Smorgasboard of the Past

Yesterday I wrote about the lure of vintage living in the modern world and the dangers of women retreating from the workforce to become retro-style housewives.  Yet, it is obvious that our current lifestyle, dominated by convenience rather than community, is taking its toll on our health and well-being.  Women of all socio-economic classes are finding that they are still, half a century after the women's rights movement, having to choose between having a career and a family and men are still oblivious to that problem.  What is the solution?  It is not for women to simply tie their aprons back on and retreat from public life.  There has to be a way to get to the root of what we are nostalgic for yet avoid the rigidity, conformity, sexism, racism, and other ills of that era.

At university, City Boy was a member of an organization called the Society for Creative Anachronism. Their motto was, "the Middle Ages as it ought to have been".  The members were nostalgic for the aesthetics of the mediaeval period, but could do without the plagues, mediaeval medical care, mediaeval sanitation, the lack of socio-economic mobility, the theocratic oppression, and the body lice (although City Boy noted that many SCAers seemed to adopt mediaeval hygiene, so I am not certain about that last one).  At SCA events, members could step out of the modern world, put on their mediaeval garb, accent, personae, and rose-coloured glasses, and experience some semblance of a heavily romanticized and idealized age.

If we want to dispense with what is not working for us in the present and reclaim what we long for about the past, we need to adopt a similar custom of picking and choosing.  We would not want to return to that era in its entirety.  There was a lot of misery in the 50s.  The appeal to young women today of becoming a housewife lies in the fact that it is a choice.  Real post-war women lacked that choice.  Plenty were depressed and anxious and were the first consumers of modern prescription mood-altering drugs.  Women were stuck in marriages with abusive or cheating husbands because they would be financially destitute if they left.  It was women's discontentment with their circumscribed lives in the 50s that fueled the women's rights movement of the 60s.

So, what we need to do now is list what we long for about the past and figure out how to bring it back in the present, without the bad stuff tagging along.

Tomorrow's post will feature my own list, along with reader suggestions.

Let's Do the Time Warp Again, Or Not

There is a growing trend of young women choosing to embrace traditional gender roles and become housewives. I am not talking about women who are unemployed by circumstances rather than choice, nor women with children who have chosen to stay home with them. I mean, full-blown 1950s-era housewives, whose days consist of cooking and cleaning and other domestic drudgery. In most cases, the financial sacrifice that the couple is making requires many home economies to make ends approach, so the modern homemaker often embraces old-fashioned skills like sewing and mending, and making lunches for her hubby to take to work. This trend is both intriguing and alarming. It raises two obvious questions: Why is it happening and why is it so frightening?

The former query is easy to answer. As women have fought tooth and nail for equality under the law, in education, in the workplace, and in all areas of society, they have never lost the responsibility of homemaking. And making a house into a home is a full-time job. This means that women who work have two jobs, one of which must be squeezed into early mornings, evenings, and weekends. Some women can hire cleaning ladies, send out the laundry, and otherwise pay for others to do much of the housework, but that is a luxury for the wealthy. The more usual result is that the housework doesn't get done and the house is a place to crash but not really a home. Meals are not eaten together in a relaxed manner. Breakfast is a granola bar on the train, a yoghurt gulped in the car, or a bagel and coffee purchased on the way into the office, and dinner is microwaved or ordered in, eaten in front of the TV or computer. Parties are catered and cooking is reserved for special occasions, a rare effort when there is more time at the weekend rather than a daily ritual. In general, the necessities of life are purchased rather than made from scratch, and entertainment is passive, i.e., listening to music rather than playing it.

Back-to-the-Land Apparently Means Back in the House, Too

There is nothing wrong with the above scenario if hearth and home simply aren't important to you but, clearly, the lack of a home life is missed by some. It is a feeling that dovetails nicely with the slow food and locavore movements, the resurgence in chicken-keeping and small-scale farming, canning and preserving, knitting and spinning. The disconnection in the modern world from the sources of our food and textiles has become so extreme that it has spawned a desire in otherwise normal city folk to raise their own sheep, shear them, spin the fibre, and knit it themselves. Handmade items are wildly popular, and sites like Etsy are thriving. Work itself is also becoming less satisfying and secure. People change jobs frequently, and work longer hours for less money and fewer benefits. Not everyone has a profession that they chose, a fulfilling career that satisfies. Most people, women and men, are working to make a living and would gladly quit and take up gardening or knitting or bread baking if they won the lottery.

So, it is not difficult to see how a couple might decide that returning to an earlier model of the division of labour, with one spouse maintaining the household and the other working to pay for it, makes sense. The women who make this retro lifestyle choice report being happier, more relaxed, less stressed by the modern world. It's a retreat from the rat race, into the cocoon of the home, where one has more control.

Now, as to the second question, I think I can venture an explanation for why women who have fought for the opportunity to work outside the home frown upon women who make a choice to reclaim domesticity. One reason is that the hard-fought, hard-won gains of the women's movement are still a work in progress. Women are still fighting for equal pay, prestige, and respect in the workplace. There is still a perception amongst male, and even female, bosses, that women aren't as dedicated to their jobs, that they are apt to quit if they have kids, or be more likely than men to have competing demands outside work, such as taking care of children, elderly, the home, etc. This is true, of course, but it is usually a necessity for women, not a choice, because men refuse to take on or even assist with these responsibilities. But the result is that women are not taken seriously in the workforce. Men have never had a choice about working. Feminism liberated women to choose to work or stay at home but it did not create that choice for men (yes, there are a few SAHDs & SAHHs, but they are rare and ridiculed), so any perception that women are just playing at work, just dabbling in the working world but can retreat home anytime is anathema to equality.

And let's not forget that working gave women the freedom not to marry; they didn't need a man to support them any longer. A homemaker, unless she has a trust fund, needs a breadwinner. Women have fought hard to gain financial independence from men, to be single by choice, child-free rather than child-less. So reverting to a model of women as homemaker (or even man as homemaker) is a return to a scenario of dependency. The money-earning half of the couple always has the upper hand, even if they choose not to play it. A single worker can cope without a homemaking spouse; a homemaker cannot survive without money. Women entering the work force and paying their own way went psychically hand-in-hand with women being equal partners in marriage and not subservient to the master of the house, the controller of the purse strings. It wasn't so long ago—my mother remembers it vividly—when women could not get a mortgage, credit card, bank account, etc., in their own names, even if they were earning their own living. So there is a legitimate fear that women returning home takes us back to a time when men ruled the world and women lacked equality in every aspect of life. Yes, some laws have changed, some forms of discrimination on the basis of sex are now illegal, and homemakers are legally entitled to part of their husband's earnings in divorce, but the perception that going home is going backward in terms of women's rights is hard to shake, and the ability of women to make a choice to work or not leads to resentment on the part of men, single women, and others whose life circumstances don't permit that choice.

Additionally, some of the basic tenets of the women's movement revolved around the idea that homemaking was stifling intellectually, that women were capable of being doctors and lawyers and engineers and using their brains as well as men. In an era when education for its own sake has been devalued, when it is seen as solely vocational, will women's access to higher educational programs and scholarships be threatened by the possibility that she might choose not to use her degree? It is dangerous: women lawyers, for example, rarely make partner. If the male partners thought the female associates might leave to stay at home, it would be the kiss of death for any hope of female advancement in the workplace. Can losing voting and property rights be far behind? 

Obviously, this is an absurd situation for women. We are caught between a rock and a hard place. We have gained the right to work, but we haven't lost the responsibility to be the main parent and homemaker on top of it. Most women who work still do the bulk of the housework, childcare, elder care, social planning, etc. Women who made the choice to trade their aprons for briefcases just have 40+ hrs less per week to get done everything they had to do before. The home still needs to be made, the family cared for, whether both spouses work or not. And, as the author of an experiment in 1950s living called "The Apron Revolution" has been pointing out since she started her project, quality of life suffers. Few women have a career that provides intellectual stimulation and other forms of gratification; most women have jobs they hate but they need them to pay the bills. They're stuck in jobs as they were once stuck at home. As more women worked, the cost of living grew to the point where tremendous sacrifices must be made for a family to live on one salary.

Of course, most women would agree that, as difficult as it is to Do It All, it's a highly preferable problem to have than in pre-women's rights days when women had no legal rights and few professional opportunities, when they were frustratingly and absurdly perceived as both intellectually and physically unfit for public life. But women are exhausted from trying to do it all, and the solution of reclaiming homemaking is increasingly appealing. In a new, feminist guise, it is growing (Anyone read "Radical Homemakers"? I just ordered it from Amazon.), but it still forces women back into subservience to men and it is still mainly practiced by religious women, which justifiably gives it a bad name. If you are a SAHW or SAHM, and especially if you are a homeschooler, people like me will assume you are some type of fundie. That's a fact. There used to be a blog called "The Atheist Homemaker", started by a SAHM who tried to find others online but all the homemaking sites she found were run by Xtian women blathering about "obedience" to their husbands. That nauseating tripe taints the idea of homemaking; no-one sane wants to be tarred with that Stepford Wife brush.  Unless you are brainwashed by religion, it is a lifestyle choice that will be met with resistance, both internal and external.

Notice that it is the mothers (and other older female relatives) of homemakers who are the most vocal opponents of this lifestyle choice. They can still remember when women were fired when they got married, denied promotions, excluded from degree programs and professions. It hasn't been that long since women lacked legal rights, since they went from being their father's property to their husband's property, symbolized by the father walking them down the aisle to their husband, and changing their surname from their father's to their husband's. It hasn't been that long since women couldn't vote or run for office. It hasn't been that long since women were expected to be support staff and not the boss, secretaries and receptionists instead of executives or lawyers, nurses instead of doctors, elementary school teachers instead of university professors. It hasn't been that long since women could not open a bank account or obtain a credit card or a mortgage without a man's signature. It hasn't been that long since women lacked control over their fertility. It hasn't been that long since women were denied an education because how much did they need to know about philosophy or science in order to cook and clean and look pretty for the men, who were the only sex expected to have any brains or intellectual life. It hasn't been that long since a woman had no financial independence and could be left destitute if her husband left her or died. It hasn't been that long since women could not sue for divorce, and custody of children and property went automatically to the man.

Every gain in women's legal and financial equality has been hard won by women who fought doggedly against sexism and patriarchy, who stood up to men who said they shouldn't worry their pretty little heads about politics and law and medicine and world affairs and should stick to their ironing and sewing and let the men make the big decisions that affected their lives. If you can believe it, one of the arguments put forth against female suffrage was that a woman would never vote differently than her husband so he could cast the vote on behalf of the household. Many of the "firsts" for women happened within the lifetime of women alive today. Many gains, such as equal pay for equal work and equal political representation, have yet to be achieved.

There is a rational and legitimate fear that if women choose to be homemakers, they will not be taken seriously in the workplace. Women were once not paid as much as men for the same work because it was assumed that the man was supporting a family but the woman was just biding her time until she snagged a man to marry. This pay gap still exists, in the 21st century, and a return to traditional gender roles can't help but exacerbate it again. I read an article recently about a woman with a PhD in engineering who was taking time out from her career whilst her children were small. She was worried about the mommy penalty: losing ground in her field, losing up-to-date skills, and not being able to find a job when she re-entered the workforce. A man responded in the comments that her choice to stay home means that women should not be given scholarships nor places in graduate programs because they were denying space in those competitive programs to another (male) applicant who would use the degree.  It is scary to see that attitude, but that commentator is far from alone in his view.

So, in sum, it's difficult to negotiate a return to homemaking in the 21st century. It's hard to find a way for women to be homemakers yet not be guilty of intellectual vacuity, or religious zealotry, or anti-feminism, or financial dependence on men, and, above all, of not harming the careers of women in the workforce.

It's Easier If One Person Holds the Chicken & the Other Applies the Vaseline

...and other phrases you never thought you'd utter with a straight face before you moved to the country.

How about:  "I'll be right back, honey, I need to spray paint the chicken's ass blue."

Chickens have a pecking order, you see, (you knew that, right?), and the lowest hens get, well, hen-pecked.  We recently obtained 4 two-year-old hens from a local CSA farm that was "refreshing" their laying flock.  One came without any tail feathers, courtesy of the higher-ups in her pecking order.  We thought she'd grow them back, going from a flock of 100 to a flock of 7, but she brought the problem with her.  For reasons best known to themselves, her sisters from the CSA farm were still plucking her tail feathers.  I enquired about the problem on the local chicken list and was told to put Blu-Kote on her tail because the bare red skin is an agonist for chickens.  Blu-Kote is a veterinary wound dressing that comes in an aerosol can just like regular spray paint.  Its distinctive colour comes courtesy of gentian violet, and it stains anything it touches (skin, clothes, walls) like ink.  Because she wasn't hand-raised like our original three Golden Comets, she is harder to catch.  It's easiest to go out in the evening when she is roosting and spray her on the perch.  Unfortunately, it has been a month and there is no sign of her tail feathers beginning to grow back, so we may have to try something else.

Poor tailless Silver Laced Wyandotte is on the left.  The Barred Plymouth Rock on the right is quite proud of her magnificent striped tail.

Now about that Vaseline.  Chickens with tall, pointy single combs are prone to frostbite in the winter.  Vaseline (or, in our case, the more environmentally friendly Avalon Organics Un-Petroleum Jelly) provides the comb with insulation.  Holding a squirming hen under one arm whist trying to open the tube and apply the goo to the comb with the other hand in the bitter cold is possible, I've done it.  But it is much easier to have one person hold the chicken and the other apply the Vaseline.

Word to the wise:  If you do hear anyone in the city utter either of those phrases with a straight face, give them a wide berth.

Finally, Some Feedback

No, not on this new blog, although I am surprised that none of my millions of devoted readers, who live for my next post, have commented yet. Do you think I am writing just to hear myself talk?

Wait, don't answer that.

So, after some pestering, I was able to obtain the following:

"While the team appreciated your enthusiasm, they had concerns about your communication style and at times felt you struggled to give precise examples when asked. They have discovered through this interview process that a portion of the time allocation for this position will be personally communicating with executives about business initiatives and presenting options and recommendations. They now view these competencies - executive interaction and business acumen - as integral to the role. Because they have such a highly collaborative environment, and the role calls for interaction with senior members of the Firm, cultural fit is important so they chose to continue their search."

Now I understand, and feel a bit better. I am still sore about losing the money, obviously, but at least I know it wasn't my fault and I don't have some personality flaw that made them dislike me.

The simple explanation is that they are not used to candidates who are desperate for the money. Most of their employees were born with the proverbial silver spoon and never had any financial worries to distract them during the interviews.

Their other candidates aren't faced with an inability to afford to travel to the interview. I was literally shaking with anxiety when I spent the $100 for the train ticket to their offices. I couldn't afford to lose that money; it could have contributed significantly towards July expenses, not to mention as yet unpaid June bills. I agonized over it but I had to take the risk; I'd come so far in the interview process that it seemed certain I would get the job if I cleared this last hurdle. Yet the expense was a constant weight on my consciousness, adding to my nervousness. It was just so HUGE. But $100 was the cheapest deal for a round-trip ticket purchased 24 hours in advance, which is the amount of notice I had for the interview.

Their other candidates aren't so ridden with chronic stress from financial worries that they are no longer sharp and quick-witted like they used to be. When I checked my phone between interrogators, I saw no less than 3 calls from collection agencies, and I had already received several earlier in the day, as I was heading to the interview. I no longer answer my phone unless I recognize the number but the daily barrage of calls that starts first thing in the morning and lasts until late evening, and sometimes (illegally) on weekends, makes my blood pressure rise. After years of stress, the brain does not function as quickly as it used to and one's processing time increases. I hope it is reversible. Apparently, even a supposed genius IQ cannot mitigate the problem sufficiently.

Their other candidates aren't pondering how they can survive until the first paycheque. I was mentally calculating that, if it took several weeks for them to make their decision and fix a start date, and another two weeks before I received a first paycheque, I would be unable to get there to begin my employment. How would I pay for transportation and a place to stay near the office? How would I pay my July rent and other bills, all due in a few days? How would I buy food and other necessities? I sometimes feel as if it is too late for me to get a job, that I am too broke to be able to accept, commute, and wait to get paid.

Their other candidates haven't been so broke for so long that they are lost in fantasy spending mode. I was dazzled at the thought of making four times what I had earned in any year in the last decade. I literally missed some of the questions the interviewers posed to me because I spaced out thinking about money—both the current lack of it and the future windfall this job would bring. Money, money, money—when you don't have any, it is the only thing on your mind.

Their other candidates aren't dressed for the interview in the only thing that fits. Let's see: My dress is 15 years old and so threadbare and full of holes that Good Will wouldn't even take it. I will have to donate it to textile recycling when I stop wearing it. But, after putting on 50 lbs since my last corporate job, I cannot fit into any of my suits or skirts or other business-appropriate attire. (One of my suit jackets is a size 8—isn't that cute?) Because this dress is black, wearing black tights under it hides most of the holes, and strategically folding my arms disguises some of the worst threadbare spots. The tights are also full of holes but, since the dress is ankle length, they don't show. The shoes are only 5 years old and still in decent nick, but the dress needs heels, which I couldn't wear since I was walking across town from the train. Had I been able to afford a place to stay or a taxi, I could have worn more appropriate shoes, but I didn't want to look like a bag lady by carrying a second pair. Speaking of bags, my 6 year old "Little Miss Perfect" Lady B knitting bag is getting too disreputable for public display—stained, cracked, full of holes, broken zipper—but I love it so and I have nothing else—no briefcase any more and no more rucksacks, all worn out and thrown out long since. My sweater doesn't have any holes yet, although I have been wearing the hell out of it since I purchased it on sale 3 years ago, but it isn't remotely interview appropriate. But the lining of the only jacket that I can still sort of squeeze into if I don't button it is so shredded that it hangs out the bottom and the cuffs, no matter how much I trim it and tuck it in. The pearl necklace was a high school graduation gift from my mother—at least those are timeless and classic. The only new item in my interview wardrobe was my bra—purchased only two years ago from Target (I know; I plead poverty—I couldn't afford to go to a real lingerie shop) when I was finally forced to own up to having gone from a barely B to an overflowing D when I gained those aforementioned 50 lbs from depression and anxiety. At first, I refused to admit that I had put on so much weight, and I stubbornly wore my old bras until they were so stretched out I had to discard them. I have not purchased any other fat clothes; bras were my only concession out of absolute necessity, and I only bought 3, which have to last until I lose the weight again. (People must think I am a fundamentalist because I only wear long dresses. Too fat for any of my trousers, I refuse to buy fat jeans. No trousers until I can fit into my size 10 Levi's again!) The point is, my interview outfit did not give me confidence, so rather than focusing on the questions I was being asked, I was fussing with hiding holes in my dress and keeping my bag and sweater out of sight under the desk. I daresay that is not a distraction that plagues other candidates at this company and at this level.

So, I am aware that I was not at my best in terms of showcasing my communication skills. I am normally the person asked to communicate with senior management because of my stellar communication skills. I am normally able to think on my feet and bullshit extemporaneously—years of college teaching hone those skills to a high level. I am known for being articulate, logical, precise, shrewd, and having a good vocabulary. I was just so desperate for this job, so anxious not to fuck it up, that I was completely tongue-tied. I was totally disengaged because the stakes were so high. I could not fail. So I did. But that performance is not an accurate reflection of my communication skills. Their fear that I would not be able to communicate on the job was entirely unfounded, so I may be able to sleep tonight for the first time since getting the devastating news.

The moral of the story is: Don't ever interview when you are desperate for the job. You can't acquit yourself well when you are desperate. Only interview when you don't need the money.

It's just like dating. My male friends tell me that childless women over 35 exude an unappealing air of desperation on dates. The trick is, in dating or job hunting, how do you disguise your desperation? A 39 year old single woman who really wants kids but cannot afford to have them as a single mom is desperate to find a suitable man. She can attempt to feign otherwise, but she can't slow time down. Likewise, the longer I go without finding a job, the more desperate my financial situation becomes, and the less employable I become. It's a fucked up situation and there is no easy way out of it. I can't put off interviewing until I am less desperate for money; every day makes me more desperate.

I bet the person they hire doesn't need the job half as badly as I do.

What's Black & Blue & Red All Over?

Nope, not a newspaper.  It's the leg I stuck through the rotten floorboard in the porch yesterday.  Underneath the abrasions, the bruises have turned interesting colours.  Perhaps I won't wear shorts today.

I meant to segue yesterday from literally sticking my foot in it to the figurative equivalent but I went off on a different, albeit related, rant instead.  I originally was going to post about my anger and frustration at not securing a position that I desperately needed after I had jumped through all the hoops of a lengthy interview process.  I had passed each of the weed-out stages with flying colours—3 telephone interviews, submission of writing samples, completion of a written simulation exercise.  At each stage, I held my breath wondering if I would move on to the next, and I grew more confident with each advancement.  I was really suited for this position; I did not have to lie or embellish my skills and experience at all.  It was in the sweet spot of my knowledge, interests, talents, everything.  I had not even applied for this job; I was headhunted for it.  This job was perfect:  It paid a lot; it allowed telecommuting; it utilized my strongest skills; it was a segue into a lucrative field that would allow me to make city wages whilst living in the country and working from home.  I would have been able to pay down my debt in months rather than years on this salary, and I could have held my head high because I would not have been underemployed, doing work that is beneath my education and experience, as I have so often done.  The humiliation from being underemployed seeps into all areas of my life and sabotages my confidence.  I feel worthless and humiliated when I am underemployed, and it makes me behave more and more arrogantly.  When people cannot get an ego boost from what they do, they fall back on obtaining one from who they are.  It is much healthier to get that lift from what one does, because that is within our control.  Who we are is not a choice, so we have no right to feel pride based upon our demographic characteristics and congenital gifts.  But we all need to get it somewhere; our self-esteem must be built upon some foundation so, much like the pure-bloods in the wizarding world, we revert to using what we have.  If we have done nothing of which to be proud, we take pride in what we are instead of what we do.  That is pathetic and contemptible, not to mention morally indefensible.

But I digress.  The point is, this job was ideal and, for the first time, I did not have to embellish my way through the interview process, feigning interest and relevant skills and experience.  This was huge for me.  Typically, I am applying for a job based solely upon the money or the convenience or the perks or some other feature than the work itself.  After this lengthy and nerve-wracking process, I was called in for the final step:  an on-site interview marathon, with 5 different people grilling me separately, asking many of the same questions, as if to wear me down, like a police interrogation room.  One of the interviewers expressed empathy, saying that, after he had endured 7 interviews over 2 days, when they asked him why he wanted to work there, he responded, "I don't know anymore; I can't remember."  I thought he was on my side (by coincidence, he turned out to be a friend of a friend).  I was told that few people make it to the on-site interview stage (and most that make it that far are hired, I assume).  It cost me over $100 to travel to the office, money I could not afford to spend and money that I would not have spent unless I was 100% certain I would get the job.  I do not do anything on spec, least of all waste money.

I dressed semi-formally and conservatively (as one always must for job interviews), and remained "on", upbeat, curious, polite, enthusiastic, and honest throughout the entire day.  Each interrogator seemed impressed with my answers.  Although the company is corporate, this is not a client-facing department so the employees can be less generic and drone-ish and have more personality.  The fellow I mentioned above said that they have people from eclectic backgrounds in this division and that it is not a handicap because, "you can teach a smart person to do anything."  Finally, a place that appreciates brains!  I left the interview certain that I had nailed it.  I had finally found the elusive job that pays corporate wages but that I did not have to be a corporate type to obtain.

The next day, I bought flowers.  I went for a run and did my ab and jump rope work for the first time in months.  I began weeding the flowerbeds.  I cleared off the dining room table and City Boy and I had dinner like civilized people.  I planned to attend a special, but expensive, annual knitting event over the weekend that I never would have allowed myself to spend the money on if I wasn't about to start a tremendously lucrative job.  I made lists of deferred maintenance to take care of for my car and house, and lists of things to buy.  I planned out which debts to pay first, made a calendar of how I would pay them off and get some much-needed clothes, appliances, and furniture.

Then, 2 days later, I was told they were in a meeting discussing me and I would get word after they had finished.  I got the call several hours later:  They were going to pass.  "Not a good culture fit."  I thought about this phrase for a few hours.  At first, I was simply in shock and disbelief.  When it finally sunk in that I was not getting this job, I was incandescent with rage.  Livid.  Incensed.  I emailed the two people who had seemed the nicest at the interview and asked them to reconsider or at least give me a more detailed explanation for their decision.  The friend-of-friend guy sent me a fake-nice reply stating they would do neither.  He turned out to be a dick.

"Not a good culture fit."

I thought about that phrase some more.  In fact, I have thought of nothing else since Friday.  I spent the weekend seething, and I haven't stopped.  I don't want to think about how high my blood pressure is at present.  They had no substantive reason not to hire me.  They had no issue with my brains or skills or experience.  They had seen my written work (this was a writing job—I said it was perfect!).  I concluded that "not a good culture fit" means they just didn't like me.  After meeting me on their turf and talking to me individually, they did not want me to be part of their team.  But why?  What did I say wrong?  As I stated in my first post, it should be mandatory for companies to explain, in detail, why they didn't hire you, if you demand to know.

Did I dress too conservatively (pearl necklace, earrings, long black dress, black stockings, black flats, hair in bun, Little Miss Perfect bag to add just the tiniest touch of humour and quirkiness to the ensemble)?  No, one must always dress conservatively for interviews, even if the office is casual.  You can never go wrong by being more formal when you make a first impression.  You can always dress down once you see the environment.  That is standard job-seeking wisdom.

Did I seem too enthusiastic, too desperate?  No, I am a veteran of too many job interviews to make that rookie error.

Did I just seem too old?  Several friends have suggested it was age discrimination, that they wanted someone younger, more energetic, moldable.  But I do project energy in interviews.  I am not an idiot.  I don't appear to be a depressive or anxiety-ridden in a situation like that.  It would be the kiss of death.  I am very shrewd and I know how to play the game, and I thought I played it superbly that day, which is what kills me.  How could I think I did so well, how could I have done so well up to that point, but somehow made them do a 180 in their opinion of me?  City Boy suggested weight discrimination but I don't think I am fat enough for that to be a factor.  But could that be the simple answer?

As I implied above, if it were a very corporate place then, yes, I would not be a good culture fit, although that should not preclude me getting a job since I can fake it for the money.  But this was a, shall we say, more creative area, with more diverse and more highly educated people.  Mr. Turned-Out-To-Be-An-Arsehole went to Harvard.  This IS my milieu: bright people, not typical brain-dead corporate drones.  So what was it?  Why did they hate me after meeting me?  I made sure to ask each of them how long they had worked there, how they liked it, all the endearing questions you are supposed to ask.  Like I said, I know how to play the game.  When I don't get a job that I am applying for just for the money, that I would detest, where I am truly not a good culture fit, I am not surprised when I am not chosen and I don't enquire too deeply into it.  Usually I am told that I am overqualified, that they are afraid I will leave, and I accept that.  But this was a 6 month gig as a contractor, not a lifetime commitment on their part if it didn't work out.  And I was neither under- nor overqualified; I could have performed the work magnificently.  In fact, I was planning to make myself indispensable so they would extend the contract.

So what the fuck happened?  Why didn't they want me after all that hoop-jumping?

That Stings A Bit

This doesn't seem to be my day.  Whilst watering the hanging baskets of fuschias on the front porch this morning, I put my foot through a rotten floorboard.  As I wrenched my leg back up, eyes watering, I was reminded of the trick step at Hogwarts that catches distracted students who forget to jump it.

Earlier in the day, I had locked myself out.  We just had a new, much stronger, pick-proof lock put on the front door, and I forgot the new key when I went off to yoga on my bike.  City Boy was home when I left, so I didn't have to lock the door behind myself.  If I had been driving, obviously, I would have had my keys but it didn't cross my mind to take them out of the jacket pocket in which they had been residing when I left as the previous lock had been broken for years.  Earlier still, I had missed a phone call for a telephone interview.  Not that I had high hopes for it anyway.  I am so burned out on job hunting that there is no way I could make a good impression on a potential employer at this point.  My anger and frustration are at peak levels, and my sense of entitlement, always high, grows by the minute, along with my salary requirements.  No-one seems to understand that the longer I am unemployed, the higher a job needs to pay to get me out of debt and on my way to financial stability.

One would expect that a long-term job seeker would grow more desperate and become more willing to take anything, even if it pays a pittance.  Yet, paradoxically, the exact opposite is true:  The longer I go without disposable income, the more I want to buy, the more entitled I feel to shop, the more resentful I feel at not being able to do things, at having to say no to plans all the time because I cannot afford to go.  Not to mention the chronic anxiety that stems from not being able to pay for basic necessities, like rent, utilities, food.  That anxiety better not make me ill because I don't have health insurance so I cannot get sick or injured (taking care of the leg with tea tree oil; no ice because I am on Day 4 of Broken Fridge).  It is nerve-wreaking knowing I am one car repair away from not being able to get to a job, even if I got one.  Knowing my lease may not be renewed since I can't pay my rent on time.  Knowing my friends and family all hate me for not visiting and not sending holiday gifts.  Knowing I am throwing a fortune down the toilet in interest because I cannot get out of debt.  At this point, the first thing I want when I find work is a holiday.  I am so exhausted from stress, I don't have the energy to go to work; I need a good, long, relaxing holiday before I can begin to focus on a new job.

It really is unfortunate that one cannot ask about pay during an interview.  Oh, sure, the interrogator always enquires if the applicant has questions.  I have the appropriate ones at the ready but these are my real ones:

1) How much does this gig pay?
2) How soon are you looking for someone to start because I need a job yesterday?
3) How soon after I start will I get my first paycheque because my rent was due last week?

I am also curious about hours, about telecommuting, about vacation days and benefits.  But one cannot ask any of those questions, except some polite variation on number 2, delicately enquiring when they hope to wrap up their search and have someone "on board".  No, one has to feign interest in the work itself.  It's all a game, a charade.  The interviewer wouldn't be working there if s/he didn't need the money, and I wouldn't be applying if I didn't need it, but we both have to pretend that's not the case.  It's a huge, steaming pile of bullshit, in which we are all complicit, and I am tired of it.

An Anniversary Not Worth Celebrating

As of today, I have been unemployed for a year.  Prior to a year ago, I was long-term under-employed, so it has been awhile since I have had enough money to cover my basic monthly expenses, let alone had any extra money for horseback riding, travel, savings, or paying down debt.  It has been nearly 4 years since my checking account was in the black; I have been living at the bottom of my overdraft.  It has been longer since my credit card was paid off.  It is charged to the limit, and all I can do is pay the minimum.  It has been a decade since I have had any savings.  It has been a year since I have paid my rent on time.  It has been 4 years since I went abroad on holiday.  It has been too long since I could donate to animal rescue, buy holiday gifts for friends and family, horseback ride, buy clothes, maintain my automobile, pay for yoga, and buy furnishings for my home.  Everything in my life is on hold—including my federal student loans, which are in forbearance.

If you'd asked me 10 or 20 years ago whether I'd have my own historic horse farm by now, my reply would have been, "of course!"  Instead, I am barely holding onto my rental.  I feel as if so many things I want to do in life—have my own farm, have horses, have sheep, rescue cats & dogs, have children, travel, help my family, help animal rescue, have an orchard, raise organic crops—are on hold.  Yes, ok, I have chickens: that is a start on farm life.  I have some flowers and a small organic veggie and herb garden.  But it is all at the sufferance of my landlord, who does not allow pets.  I can't farm properly on a rental property.  I live in a historic house, built in 1780, but another tenant lives upstairs, and the house is not restored.  In fact, it is covered with vinyl siding.  Hardly my museum-quality historic masterpiece.

I am grateful to have this, and I appreciate the beauty that is here, the opportunities that I do have in this rental.  I love the sugar maples in the front yard, and the really local syrup that comes from them.  I love the porches (it's a big deal for a city girl to have her own adirondack chairs).  Hell, I even have a small bbq grill for s'mores—definitely not something one can have in the city!  I love that when I want blueberries or raspberries for my morning yoghurt, I can go out back and pick them right into the bowl.  I love watching the lilac and winterberry bushes that I planted get bigger every year.  I love seeing the echinacea attract hummingbirds and bees.  I love the bike path, the hills, the local, seasonal organic farmstands, the local ice cream and cheese, the historic houses with plaques stating the year they were built.  I love the hay trucks stacked high with bales rumbling down the street, leaving a wispy trail of hay in their wake.  I love how you can't give away squash around here because everyone has such a prolific crop of their own.  I love picking sweet corn in the back field and carving pumpkins that I have grown myself.  I love collecting fresh eggs for breakfast, still warm from the chicken.  I love my 7 feathery girls, mostly heirloom breeds that I am helping to preserve.  I love picking the first asparagus of spring knowing it was planted decades ago and keeps coming back.  I love seeing up close how tenacious nature is.  I love watching the baby squirrels that live in one of the maple trees venture down to explore their world.  I love noting the weekly growth of the baby bunny whose burrow is under the house.

It isn't MY farm, but it still beats the hell out of a city flat.  I do appreciate that.  I can breathe here and some days that is enough.  But anniversaries are a time for reflection, to consider our goals, how far we have come and what we have yet to accomplish.  Each year for the last decade I have slid back a little - gotten a little fatter, a little more out of shape, a little more worn down by anxiety and depression, a little poorer, a little (ok, a lot) further into debt.  I become less employable, less attractive, less fertile (yes, the biological clock is ticking LOUDLY), less quick and sharp due to stress and fatigue.  Each year, I see my goals sliding further out of sight instead of getting closer, as they should.

Money is the reason that I cannot pursue most of my goals, and money would solve most of my problems.  But I am not even doing the things I can do without money.  I have passions that are inexpensive; I could still sing—I can't afford a voice teacher but singing on my own is free.  I can't buy a Steinway grand at present but I could still play the instruments that I already own.  I could still knit and spin.  (Like most knitters, I could knit from my stash for the next year and have yarn left over.)  I can't afford riding lessons but I could make friends with people who need their horses exercised.  I could garden the hell out of the small space I have.  I could write.  I can't afford to rejoin the gym or yoga studio, but I could run, bike, and do yoga at home.  I could be doing ab work and lift weights all day.  I could be a good friend, even if I can't afford to visit.  I could help my family emotionally, if not financially.

But I haven't been doing any of these things.  Since I am unemployed, you'd think I'd have time on my hands, but my garden is full of weeds and my UFOs sit in my knitting bag with my untouched stash.  My musical instruments have dust on them.  And my endless lists of writing ideas remain lists.  Why?  Why don't I use my time productively?  I think the main reason is depression; it runs in my family.  There is also anxiety/OCD, which makes it hard to concentrate, and my perfectionism.  But everyone has issues.  Absolutely everyone, no exceptions.  And most people get shit done anyway.  So, that is no excuse.

The clichéd, but accurate, definition of insanity is doing the same thing over again & expecting different results.  On what I am calling the 10th anniversary of sliding further from my goals, I need a new strategy to turn things around and start moving towards them again, at an accelerated pace, to make up for lost time.