A Happy State of Affairs

Jobs in Michigan are about as easy to find as a conservative Christian in San Francisco: while you might spy one in passing, it will disappear as soon as you pause for a closer look. As scary as it may seem, though, actually getting a job isn't as difficult as beginning one. While the job search is daunting, exasperating, exhilarating, depressing, and sometimes satisfying, all of those emotions dissolve into pants-pissing fear once a job is actually acquired. All of a sudden, the flashy degree and sparse experience in the field look too flimsy to get anyone through the first day, let alone the training period.

The closest thing I've had to a "real" job is the four-month internship at a European literary magazine, for which I got 4 English credits and a peek into the publishing world. Four months, however, is hardly enough time to acquire solid experience according to the harsh job market of a deflated economy. My first big break happened last month, and not even as an editor or writer, but as a personal assistant.

I have previously worked for my current employers as a receptionist. While a receptionist position does require some brain cells, so do most jobs, even in the food service industry. I spent most days staring into space, wondering how I landed at a salon instead of an editor's desk, but I didn't feel too badly because I was in college and felt like I was doing something with my life. I have returned to them as a personal assistant, a position which sounds like it's right out of a chick lit novel. The job title is pretty much self-explanatory, but proves to be less whimsical than most cutesy romantic comedies portray.

The first few weeks of a job drag the new employee through a range of emotions which are constantly oscillating through her psyche. I went into the job with a confidence which was quickly deflated in the first week by the realization that I didn't have as much experience as I thought. A triumph over a certain protocol is quickly dashed into despair as one small mistake becomes a virtual atom bomb of disgrace in the eyes of an employer. I have a difficult time holding onto my sanity when one moment I feel like the best personal assistant ever and the next I feel like a literal burden on my bosses. This ping-pong game becomes exhausting, and I sometimes look back longingly at the days where the most important things I needed to care about was a customer's meat slice thickness. At least those mistakes couldn't be blamed on a faulty thought process, but a mere carelessness about people's particular consistency preferences.

I won't be a personal assistant forever. One day I will be able to inform people, by my own experience, that I can do more with an English degree than teach at a high school or use it as a prop to find entry-level positions in random companies. It sometimes seems like a far-off thing, but there are glimpses now and then of the future that might be possible.

When I was young, I always imagined that having a job would be simultaneously a necessary burden and a constant presence. It was just another step of an adult life: graduate from high school, graduate from college, and get a job. The end. Happily ever after included. Now I realize it's not so simple and steady. Like most other things in life, finding a career is rocky, unpredictable, and never guaranteed. A job doesn't have the same structure as school: if you do A, B, and C, you will succeed. Now I realize that jobs don't just exist to fill up my day or some sort of obligation to society, but to pay my bills. I also realize that my job isn't necessarily supposed to be the most important thing in my life, and it has changed my whole perspective. If I find a job that happens to fulfill me intellectually, that would be wonderful. Until I find one of those, I'll be the one in the career wear, chasing after a slightly modified American dream.