Updating the ol’ resume recently, I just realized something. I spent practically 16 years in one career and 14 in another. That’s 30 years combined of full-time, real-deal working—and boy, am I tired! No wonder. I haven’t been a workaholic really, even was laid off a few times. And those 30 years do not include part-time jobs in high school and throughout college. I think my worker’s fatigue comes not only with advanced years of life but also from spending so much time and energy trying to scratch out a living, what has turned out to be two careers.
After college once I returned to the big city, I eagerly anticipated quick employment. I’d fill out a bunch of applications and just sit by the phone and wait for the offers to roll in. I was a college graduate. At the time 30 years ago, not only were we in a recession of sorts, I had no real work experience. All those part-time jobs—from slicing meat at a sandwich shop to waitressing at an Italian restaurant, writing freelance articles and tutoring college kids—didn’t matter much. What mattered was real on-the-job work experience, 8 to 5 weekdays, for at least two to five years. It didn’t matter the education in my pretty little head. The lack of ink on my resume revealed an inexperienced applicant, a kid just starting out in life.
No Work Blues
Back in the late ’80s, I was one of those college grads living with the parents while searching for employment, any job to get on my feet. I applied for teaching and newspaper jobs as those were areas for which I was qualified. I even applied for a job I kept seeing in the Want Ads, something called an Underwriter. Man, that insurance company must have thought, “This is what colleges are putting out these days?” because I had no idea what the job title meant. I just saw ‘writer’ and went for it. I had spunk. And so dumb. In those days, we didn’t have the internet to quickly search job titles. So I humiliated myself, in the insurance world anyway.
I went on several teaching interviews. No job offer. “What is wrong with me?” I wondered way back then. I still ponder why I never started teaching right out of college. I think I may have come across as insecure, not too bright (well …), uncertain of my abilities and knowledge in my field, and intimidated by a confident older prospective employer who was a school principal. I know I went into the interviews subconsciously thinking, “Why would you want to hire me? Anyone else would be better than me.” I had low self esteem because college had not been easy. I may have sabotaged myself from getting hired quickly.
Then I was interviewed to be a clerk at The Dallas Times Herald. My new boss and I had a lot in common as far as love of the arts and news. I was in awe of her. She was high-profile, looked like Mary Tyler Moore, and had tons of success in the mass media. I know because part of my job was to send out her bio prior to her speaking engagements. I learned a lot at that big-city newspaper—to this day the friendliest place I’ve ever worked. It was in downtown, and sometimes on pay day a group of us clerks-slash-wannabe reporters would walk over to eat lunch at the West End. I figured my future was in the newspaper biz as a reporter someday. I even got a couple of freelance pieces published. I had spunk.
A clerk job paid only $6 an hour. At the encouragement of some older colleagues, I asked for a raise. I did what they said to do: set up a meeting with a supervisor, list my job duties and additional work I’ve taken on, discuss the current salary and explain what I need to live on my own. I asked for $9 an hour. The company gave me $8. So that’s how the game’s played? Next time, I’ll know to ask for $10 an hour. A colleague pointed out my great success in getting such a significant raise, that probably someone else lost a job or some budget was reshuffled. I moved out on my own, living in an apartment. Life as an older 20-something was looking good.
A year later I was suddenly unemployed along with all 900 workers of that century-old Dallas institution. We got two months’ severance with insurance plus any pay for sick days and vacation time we didn’t take. Next I found myself standing in line at the state ‘employment office’ as a laid-off worker. That was humiliating, but I met a lot of interesting people in that long line. I pieced together any kind of work, including working at a homeless shelter where I used to volunteer. Plus I did a lot of substitute teaching, willing to rise predawn whenever the phone rang and a computer listed a job to work that day. After several months, I finally got a steady job at a major used book store, earning about what I used to make plus health insurance.
What color is my career?
At this time in my life, I could have gone in any direction. I applied at all the schools as well as colleges and universities and any media outlet, even drove to Austin and other parts of the state doing the same, sometimes getting an interview. During this time of possibility combined with depression, confusion and insecurity, I was advised to read career books. I took lots of personality tests to figure out a career direction. The psychological tests would guide me into an area that would make me happy and fulfilled while also being a productive citizen in society as a whole. Whatever. I was bored senseless and certainly had the time to take a bunch of pop psychology tests.
What I found out about myself at the time was I really wanted to be of service to mankind, to help humanity. That was enlightening. I used to want to join the Peace Corps. After the career tests, I considered going into social work. But that did not appeal to my creative side. Maybe I answered some of the questions wrong. A few years later when I took all those career personality tests again, I found the one thing I must have as a worker is respect. That was my top priority, a job or position whereby people would respect me or what I do for a living. So why would I want to be a teacher? Or a newspaper reporter?
By the end of 1992, I got a big career break. I was hired as city editor at a small-town newspaper. I moved away with my dog and got to work building a career, one week shy of turning 30. In many ways, I knew what to do as a reporter. If I needed advice, I asked for it and was willing to listen, and usually would do as suggested. I’d say that ability or characteristic has been my saving grace. I would befriend seasoned reporters and learn how to go about covering a story or issue.
However, I’m not sure how I came across as a co-worker in general, because I was all work and no play. In the workplace I imagine anyone who ever worked with me or near me may have thought I shoot off my mouth, talk too much, try too hard to be funny. Really, I think long and hard before speaking, precisely phrasing opinions or comments sometimes within a clever turn of phrase, and still I can come up with some very funny quips. I know I kept myself in stitches all the time. So another aspect about surviving the work world, to me anyway, has been levity: a much needed release from the seriousness of our workday lives.
I moved on to another small-town paper, taking on another title of entertainment editor along with government reporting, and flourished with a very supportive editor. A few awards later I moved back to the big city and tried my hand at cub reporter. It wasn’t for me, not anymore. I had so much experience and had been virtually free to cover issues and subjects that were important to me (granted, I did grunt work, too), I was unfulfilled. Maybe I was reaching a mid-life crisis, but at age 40, I wanted to be a teacher. All along that had been my initial career goal. When a teaching job was offered, I changed careers like that. Snap.
So, as the song goes: That’s life. That’s what they say. Mine has been that of a career woman with all the connotations that go with it. The past decade and a half, I’ve worked in the public schools and taught thousands of kids from pre-kindergarten to 8th grade. And I’ve been laid off as a teacher, too. I even got additional certification to teach journalism. I figured my newspaper experience could teach any kid to be a reporter, and I do mean honest reporting. No fake news.
After three decades in the work world, spanning two careers, I’ve learned: Diplomacy is a must along with self assurance, think before speaking, do a job well, and aspire to be a consummate professional. Every now and then I see on social media old high school classmates retiring as they reach the 30-year milestone, gladly saying goodbye to their dutiful yet required time spent in the workforce and set careers. I have never thought of myself as retiring or even retired—though I am indeed tired. I’ve always seen myself in the future still working, here or there, in this field or that … till the very end.