On the Phenomenon of Bullshit Jobs

Since this is a blog about being able to see the results of your work, I thought I would post this interesting article by an anthropologist at the London School of Economics, on the rise of what he calls “bullshit jobs.” I would say that perhaps these are jobs in which the workers don’t see any outcome, or at least little socially beneficial outcome, from what they do at work for 40 or more hours per week, as opposed to say, garbage collectors or MTA construction workers or farmers, or even teachers.

Even though my presumption here is that teaching does not yield adequate “visible outcomes” for me, now that I have sufficient distance from that profession, I would say it does produce some results, though perhaps much more infrequently and of a totally different nature than I had expected. For example, as a teacher, you do sometimes see the students respond to your care, whereas few, if any, will remember that calcite dissolves in acid. (Though when I learned that a few years ago as a third-grade teacher, I couldn’t imagine how anyone would forget. And yet, the only thing I think my students remembered of that science curriculum is that water beads on wax paper, which, when you think about it, is pretty amazing. I probably should’ve turned that into a lesson on surface tension or something.)

I wouldn’t rule out teaching as a possible route in the future, but I don’t mean elementary school or even high school — if I ever venture into teaching again it should probably be to adults. I simply can’t figure out what I’m supposed to do with 20-30 young humans who would rather not be there, trapped in a room with you all day, or even for 40 minutes. I am just not that kind of manager.

The worst job interview … ever

I knew that as soon as I made a decision that I would just be a copy editor, I’d get an interview for a job that was not for copyediting and go through this whole dilemma of whether or not to take it. I did not think, however, that it would be a FAKE interview.

Yeah, it was kind of a fake interview for me, too, at that point, but I thought maybe I’d want the job if they offered it to me, especially if it paid well and had good benefits. It was coordinating a university program dealing with East Asian studies. I happen to have a master’s degree in Chinese literature,  and the job description indicated they were looking for someone with a background in East Asian studies as well as experience living abroad in East Asia and working with faculty and students from there. Hey, that’s me!

But the kicker was that I had also applied for a position as assistant in that center. So when I got the interview and arrived there, I didn’t ask which position I was interviewing for. Big mistake. They just started by asking me why I thought I was right for the position. So I said stuff that I thought was relevant for both roles, having supported faculty a lot in different roles, event coordination at a church, budget oversight, etc.

They said I had not mentioned the event coordination in my resume, but it was there in both my resume and my cover letter. Oh yeah, and the first sentence of my cover letter said that I had also applied for the assistant position, but they had obviously not read it carefully.

The woman then said that it didn’t sound like I knew what the position was, and that it was for a student affairs coordinator, mainly advising students in a master’s program. I said, the job description didn’t indicate that it was a student affairs position coordinating a master’s program. I checked afterward — it did not say any of that.

She said, “You should really read the job description before you apply.”


I said, “I did read the job description, and it didn’t mention student affairs.”

The other guy said it did mention student affairs and that event coordination was only mentioned briefly at the end. Again, I checked the job description afterward, and the whole first paragraph was about event coordination.

The woman then said that this was clearly not something I wanted to do, so she’d have to terminate the interview.

I was, as you can imagine, rather put out at this point. I said that I was interested and asked, if I wasn’t qualified for the position, why did they ask me for an interview? She said I was qualified but that I didn’t reference the right parts of my background.

I replied that I might have been confused because I had also applied to the assistant position.

“That’s the problem with applying to every position,” the dragon lady said.

By this point, I was fuming. I did not just spend the afternoon ironing my good linen pants for this shit, to be told that I didn’t read the job descriptions and applied for all the jobs at the university.

I told them they should look at the job description they wrote; maybe I was mistaken, but they should really take more care in writing them. And I stormed out.

Later, I was sad and angry that I had reacted in that way, but I can only conclude, in retrospect, that I had felt wrongly accused of nonchalantly applying for a job I didn’t want. Which is kind of true, but I guess I did want it at the time that I had applied, which was about a month ago. But then I felt stupid that I had applied or gone to the interview at all, or at least I should’ve asked what position I was being interviewed for — I mean, I hadn’t been keeping it a secret or anything.

That night, I received an email that appeared to be sent to all candidates, thanking them for their time, but that they had found a suitable candidate.

Not a likely story, because I interviewed on the first day available, the day after I was notified that I was being interviewed. Did they really get through the interviews that quickly? My feeling, and my husband’s, is that they already had a candidate, but because the university requires them to conduct a search, they had to go through the motions.

I’m not sure what I would do differently put in the same position again — maybe to say gracefully after they mention wanting to end the interview, “Thank you for your time; please keep me in mind if any other positions open up.”

But y’all know me, I have very little grace, and as my father told my in-laws upon meeting them for the first time, I have a bad temper. Maybe I was channeling too much cocky wonder woman (see earlier posts on “power poses” and self-confidence), but I wanted to obliterate that nasty woman for wrongly accusing me of things I didn’t do, putting the blame on me for their own lack of preparation, and most likely I’d be just as argumentative as I was yesterday.


The lesson I’ve learned, however, is to ask what position the interview is for, if I’ve applied to more than one at the same place. Yes, that was my bad. I doubt that will happen again, but at least I know now.

Not the brightest idea I’ve ever had

Writing a blog about my search for a career/job has proven to be problematic in many ways.

It’s made me worry that I didn’t get a job because the prospective employers found this blog and read what I wrote about them. So I stopped mentioning the job interviews and positions I’d applied for.

Then, complaining about aspects of my current part-time position as a reporter for a local news site and free print weekly has alerted superiors to warn me not air my opinions so freely, lest I compromise my mission to report on events and situations fairly.

Also, it’s never a good idea to complain about one’s employer on a public site.

Maybe my problem is that the blog is public. I should probably be journaling about all this stuff and then writing a book about it later, after I am no longer employed at a place I’m complaining about. Or I should make this thing private and unsearchable and only give out the web address to close friends and family via email, not broadcasting it over facebook, which is full of “friends” who are not really my friends anyway. (Hi, those of you reading this and wondering if I meant you!)

Whatever the case, I am finding it hard to write about anything related to my job search, or rather, lack of a job search, or my current position.

I suppose I can say that I may have wriggled my way out of covering the village government, simply by not covering it adequately, though that was not intentional. My heart’s not in it, of course, so there’s that, but I also don’t have the stomach for the quarreling.

My husband came down with the flu on Monday, so he’s been home since Tuesday on. He finally went to the doctor today — one day shy of health insurance coverage, mind you, because our doctor doesn’t work Fridays, and he’s been feeling miserable enough to self pay. I have been trying my best to take care of him.

Now writing that sentence: “I have been trying my best to take care of him,” makes me realize that I have been trying to do that since he started his full-time job at the end of November.

That has been a difficulty for a while between us. I have high expectations of myself, and I have been putting a lot of pressure on myself to be a good stay-at-home spouse, just like Shane was to me for the four years that I worked full-time as a teacher. I want to make delicious dinners with leftovers so he can bring a lunch to work, keep the house clean, do the dishes and the laundry regularly, but then again, I don’t really want to do any of that at all. At the end of the day, when none of that has been done, I feel like I’ve failed him and myself.

I’m also rather a workaholic, so even though I’m technically part-time at the paper, I have made it so that I work on stuff for the paper pretty much a lot of the time. That way I don’t have to do housewife-y stuff, either.

On top of that, I have taken on lots of responsibility at this church. This church! I am in charge of hall rentals, and now I am trying to organize a pancake supper that is happening NEXT WEEK!

One has to understand something about my past to comprehend the anxiety with which I face this freaking pancake supper. I can remember, in my entire 36 years of life, only one or two gatherings that I organized that were successful. I think they were while I was in grad school, so it wasn’t difficult to impress the other grad students I’d invited, who were equally as or perhaps a little nerdier than I was.

OK, so this is at CHURCH for God’s sake, so what am I worrying about? Well, I still want it to be FUN.

In my search for the right formula to create said FUN, I may have tried a little too hard. I bought a bunch of Mardi Gras masks and beads — I mean, come on, Pancake Day is fine and all, but let’s spice things up a little — and I’m thinking about holding a pancake race (which I’ve learned actually happens at pancake suppers in the UK). Shane and a few friends at church are asking me, “Who’s going to run in a pancake relay race?! It’s a bunch of old people who can’t run!” And I’m saying, “The kids?” while I’m thinking, “I want to run in a pancake relay race! And I want to watch a bunch of people making fools of themselves running in a pancake relay race!”

Did I mention there will be mimosas? Everyone is excited about the mimosas. Maybe with mimosas people will wear Mardi Gras masks and beads and run around flipping pancakes. Maybe it will be fun.

Copy editor and reporter and … photographer?

I could say I have been busy with work, getting more responsibilities at the paper, which is sort of true, but since it is only part-time, there’s no real excuse for my long hiatus from writing.

There was that whole job interview thing — I finally heard back that I didn’t get the job, weeks after the second interview I mentioned previously. It was fine not getting the position, especially after worrying that I’d have to interact with that horrible professor, but I did feel like maybe they had somehow seen my blog post about them (and that I didn’t really want the job). I don’t know how they would have, but I stressed out about it anyway. That paranoia led me not to want to write about much else on this blog. And so a couple of other job interviews have come and gone without so much as a … tweet.

I still do enjoy working for the paper, and staying there is now made easier by the fact that my husband has secured a full-time job (with benefits!) in the city. The whole idea of giving the Ailes operation a hard time is extremely satisfying, which unfortunately allows me and my colleagues to put up with a lot of other stuff, like not being able to go full-time or get insurance benefits.

I remain eternally grateful for the opportunity to develop my skills there, though. I have, since my last posting, written a few more articles, one or two of which have had an impact (however small) on parts of the community.

One of my stories on the Garrison School Board meetings, for example, reportedly angered the teachers there, which was the desired effect. They were not present to hear the condescending tone of some the parents or to defend themselves, and so I felt it my duty to inform those not present of the general themes of the discussion. Unfortunately, I heard that the teachers felt the article was immensely critical of them, when in fact I had tried my best to report as “objectively” as possible.

I haven’t been writing as much for the paper as one might expect, given my “added,” somewhat editorial responsibilities at the paper. With the awesome digital SLR camera that I bought myself for my birthday in October, I have been taking much better pictures than I ever could with my old point-and-shoot, and my photos have been appearing a lot more in the paper than my writing has. My shots of the late-night flooding at high tide in lower Cold Spring (in my last post), for example, were some of the only ones that I have seen. When we need front-page photos now, the editor often asks me to get the shots.

gingerbread ornamentLiving nativity Saunders Farm

The wonders of digital photography! Now any numbnut can take a hundred photos and find a good one somewhere in the mix. I DO want to learn more about photography, though, so that I don’t have to sort through a hundred photos to find one that is merely decent. I know there are several ways to do so that are free, through the Internet, perhaps through all of my artsy photographer friends, but it just means getting up and doing it….

Which brings me to the confessional part of my blog: Am I in a rut? Am I, as I type this entry while noon approaches, in bed, in my bathrobe, shirking my duties as the spouse who works part-time, avoiding the laundry, the dishes, the cleaning, the grocery shopping, the cooking, and contemplating what I’ll watch next on Netflix instant? Am I avoiding a job search that will land us in the city so that my husband doesn’t have to commute an hour and a half each way and so that I can continue working at this paper and take on village reporting duties? Am I also making no progress whatsoever on journaling or writing fiction/creative nonfiction/my first novel? Am I, perhaps, rather depressed? I’m afraid the answer is yes. But therapy will resume as soon as my health insurance kicks in next month.

The second interview and the waiting game

Yesterday, I went to the second interview for the secretary job at the education graduate school from which I graduated five years ago and where I worked as secretary for a year. Now I am waiting to hear back about whether I get the job.

The panel who met with me (and at least one other candidate) consisted of the academic coordinator of the department, the manager for the program in which the secretary would be working, and a couple of other academic secretaries in the department. Everyone seemed nice and fun. They asked me questions like, “What was the best movie you’ve seen in the last two years?” and “If you could be anything for Halloween, what would you be?” A couple of them seemed like doctoral students in the process of writing dissertations, so they had that fun, self-deprecating but miserable vibe that many doctoral students have.

It occurred to me, however, that one of these secretaries might remember me from my studies through this department one semester six years ago, when the bilingual ed students did a semester with this particular department. I asked her yesterday, if she remembered me, because I had to take courses through the program. She said my name sounded familiar.

Those who have read about my travails during that time (on my blog from back then) might also recall the U.S. Open incident. My father was coming, from Taiwan, to visit New York to see a grand slam tennis tournament for the first time in his life, and we had bought tickets months ahead of time. Of course, it turned out that one of the days for which we had tickets was also the first day of school. So, in my naivete, I emailed the program to ask whether I could miss that day during my first student teaching assignment.

The secretary, who was sitting before me at this interview yesterday, might have seen the email that was forwarded to the she-devil professor of the department, who subsequently wrote me a vile message questioning my desire to be a teacher. (She wrote in the subject line, “Teaching or tennis?”)

Offended and infuriated, I calmed myself enough to attempt to explain my request. I had failed to mention that my father was in another country and also elderly, so this was not, in my opinion, like asking to be off the first day of school to go see a movie with a friend, for example. Naturally, after hearing how important the first day of school would be for a student teacher, I would now be present on the first day of school. But she did not have to be as condescending as she was. Her email follows below:

____ forwarded your email about your desire to see the U.S. Open, rather than the first day of school with children.

I imagine you do not realize the impression your question leaves with us about your interest in, and commitment to, becoming a teacher.

Perhaps your commitment is truly solid and you do not realize the significance the first day of schools holds for both teachers and children. If you told your cooperating teacher that you couldn’t come to the first day of school because you were going to the U.S. Open, you would probably be immediately asked to leave the placement.

As a program, we cannot afford to jeopardize our reputation with the public schools and with the teachers who donate their time to be cooperating teachers; if you are wavering in your commitments, or if teaching is perhaps too restrictive of a life-style, we should discuss this ASAP.

Ew. And for the record, my cooperating teacher that semester would not have asked me to leave the placement if I had asked to be absent; she wouldn’t have cared, just like she wouldn’t have cared if I had shown up in jeans like she did every day, even though this professor told us never to do so. In fact, that teacher probably shouldn’t have been a cooperating teacher in the program, because she scared the children into behaving, and I probably learned some bad habits. Or maybe the program assigned me to her to get back at me somehow.

Anyway, so why am I applying to work in a department where this horrible, condescending person teaches? Because I checked — I’d be working in a different program and not with that loca. Otherwise, you can forget it.

But, there are chances that I’d have to work with her. And that scares me. If she found out it was that girl coming to work for the department, she’d probably make my life hell; no doubt she’d think, “So she couldn’t cut it after all, and that’s why she’s just a secretary now,” and that teaching was “too restrictive of a lifestyle” for me.

Maybe I shouldn’t get the job.

Turning 36 in the year of the dragon

Fighting for good journalism, getting ‘real’ jobs, and marriage equality in church

My birthday was last Saturday. I turned 36. This means, in Chinese astrology, that I am a dragon in the year of the dragon. (There are 12 animals in the horoscope, so it’s a 12-year cycle.)

You might think this is a good thing; I did. Woohoo! It’s my year, I wrote on facebook. This belief was dispelled by the only other Asian working in the school district where I was employed during the first half of this year. Hai, a Vietnamese immigrant who had lived several years in Hong Kong, has a much better understanding of the horoscope than I do as an ABC (American-born Chinese). The year of the dragon, he told me, is a bad year for a dragon. This, as I understand it, is because the astrology takes into account the five elements — earth, fire, metal, water, wood — and having too much of one element causes imbalance, and a dragon in a dragon year would present a pretty big imbalance. A dragon in a monkey year, however, would be a good, balanced year, since the monkey provides things that a dragon lacks. Or something along those lines.

In any case, Hai was right, in that I had a miserable first half of the year at least. Working at that school caused me to increase my antidepressant as well as start me on anti-anxiety pills; I had bad evaluations, no support though I asked for help, parents and students complaining about me, and a new principal who was convinced that I was a horrible teacher and didn’t give me serious chances to improve. This principal made it virtually impossible for me to get another teaching position in another district, because I was technically, if not officially, fired, and no other school in these tough-on-teachers times wants to touch a fired teacher with a 10-foot pole.

Being fired from my job was, however, probably a blessing in disguise, because I am much happier NOT as a teacher. Of course, I have not been able to bring myself to forgive the actions of my superiors in that district, but I know that I should really feel grateful that they didn’t let me waste any more of my time trying to learn something — dealing with challenging behavior — that was so difficult for me.

Today I went into the city for a job interview at the education graduate school where I got my master’s degree in bilingual education. I had worked there as a secretary for a year during my studies, and that job may have been one of the most enjoyable experiences I had there (which is not exactly saying it was enjoyable, per se). I applied for another secretary position last month, and I think I do want to get the job.

At first, when they called me to set up the interview, I didn’t want it. I had been volunteering at the farm on Friday, talking to the apprentices with whom I work about their difficulties working with their boss. I looked back at my last 15 or so years of work experience and realized I have never had such a good time at a job as I do where I am now, at this paper, working part-time with no benefits. (It was a beautiful fall day at the farm, by the way. I love this area.)

The path to the fields up topView of a pond at Glynwood Farm

After all, the editor is endlessly helpful to me, encouraging me to take on more responsibilities and praising my writing. (My latest articles are both on the front page!) I also like many of the people I work with, and I get to meet interesting people. Oh, and have I mentioned that it is greatly fulfilling to know that I work at a publication that directly competes with the local paper owned and operated by the wife of the president of Fox News? I feel like I am fighting for a good cause, for real journalism, ethical reporting, and bipartisanship, even in the venue of such a small town. I didn’t, and often still don’t, want to give any of that up.

Later I discussed the job with my husband, who is really excited these days about the prospect of getting full-time jobs in the city and moving back there. He says, if we could get settled into some secure, stable jobs in the city, that eventually he could support me while I have a baby. And so we are back to the age thing — I am no spring chicken, and my window of childbearing is closing. If I want to have kids, then I have to have them soon, probably within the next few years.

The truth is that we haven’t found any way to sustain life here in this beautiful and too-expensive Hudson River village, now that I’m not making a good salary. With my increasing responsibilities at the paper, I could make a little more money, but it will not be a full-time job with benefits anytime soon, with the funding situation as it is. And Shane has not been able to find any positions within reasonable driving distance for which he is qualified and that would support us, and commuting an hour and a half each way to the city would be too much for him.

So I resigned myself to perhaps only being able to copy edit for the paper remotely on the internet.

Taking into consideration this new desire to get a benefit-providing job, I don’t know why I was so honest at the interview today. Basically, I admitted to wanting to a job where I don’t have to take work home and where I can have fun with coworkers, and I confessed to needing to work on resolving conflict with others. Whaa? And yet, I think, being honest is my way of cutting to the chase, and if they don’t want me with all of my flaws, then I don’t want them.

There may also have been a little part of me that simply hopes that we can find a way to make things work living in this area and keeping my job at the paper.

There’s this other thing, too, that I don’t know how to discuss on this blog, and that’s the work we’ve been doing for this Episcopal church in town. I think I try to avoid writing about it because I don’t want to turn people off by talking about religion. Most of my friends, after all, are agnostics and atheists, as I was for most of my life.

But it has been a great part of our lives here, and it has meant, for us, being part of a community and, in a way, supporting gay rights. This is because we have a priest who recently came out as gay and who has presided over the first gay wedding in the diocese (even though the bishop has not yet approved of marrying same-sex couples in an Episcopal ceremony). Honestly, if you looked up the Episcopal church, you’d find it surprisingly progressive (for those of us who look down on organized religion and believe Christianity is quite scary in its more popular, conservative American form).

The parish members are wonderful — we met our best friend in the village there, and we are actually friends with some Republican church-goers! The priest gives thoughtful and helpful sermons about emulating Christ by accepting and loving, not judging, others, which I truly want to try to do. (And here the friends who know me well may be surprised, since I never exactly espoused withholding judgment in the past. In fact, my disdain for most of humankind may be one of my most fun traits.)

The church, however, is not doing well. We recently learned that we have to prepare two budgets for the coming year — one continuing as is and another without a full-time priest. Unfortunately, our priest will probably have to leave, since we cannot sustain what we have now, and our savings are dwindling. (Sound familiar? Is it merely a coincidence?)

To add to the turmoil, a couple of the main players on the church vestry have quit, having been burned out, I guess, by the stress of trying to run a church with a full-time priest for over 7 years on a diminishing income. In the course of the past week or so, I have taken on more responsibilities on the vestry as a result — becoming co-chair of pastoral care and chair of hall rentals, and Shane has taken more financial responsibilities as treasurer.

St. Mary-in-the-Highlands

I haven’t been trying a great deal to discern my “calling,” but this — helping the parish — is the closest thing to a calling that we have imagined for ourselves thus far. It’s a beautiful landmark, for one, but a serene place to find comfort (with its stained glass, somber classical music, and age-old, high-mass rites — Catholicism with none of the guilt!) as well as a raucously fun place to find friendship. What churches, after all, hold champagne receptions for adult baptisms and Christmas midnight mass, and regularly serve alcohol at its fundraisers and social events (all while teaching people to be nice to each other)? This place needs to survive!

Be Careful What You Wish For

I’ve been incredibly busy this week with copy editing and writing. This is generally nice, especially compared to last week, when both of my planned stories disappeared because meetings were postponed … postponed, that is, to this week.

Two village board meetings this week: Monday’s was almost three hours long; Tuesday’s was almost two hours long. I don’t know if village board meetings should ever be allowed on consecutive nights. I am not having happy, positive thoughts about some of the people in the village government or on its myriad boards.

During these meetings, I kept thinking about the conflict resolution course I took a few years ago while in grad school, about how these people need to go to mediation in a big way and get off their little soapboxes for at least a minute and actually listen to what someone else is saying, for a change.

But that’s not really fair. I guess I am feeling rebellious because of having to just sit and listen, myself, for once. Yes, I get to write about it later, so I get my say, but I would not allow myself (or be allowed by editors) to write what I really think. That’s what this blog is for….

On occasion, I transcribe from my recording of the meeting something really ridiculous that a person said, because I really want to use it in an article and say, “Hey, everyone! Can you believe this ding dong?!” But I don’t use most of what I transcribe, and I can’t really write an account that sounds like me gossiping with a friend: then he said … and so she said … and then he said….

I am happy, though, that I am busy with work. I am glad to have so much responsibility at this paper, which I think is doing incredible work. I am thankful that the editor is helpful and encouraging and generally happy to have hired me. I’m grateful for the opportunity to wield power and make decisions on which press releases should go in the paper and what should be cut from them and which can just go on the website….

If only our website were up this week! Huge technical difficulties have besieged us, and I hope that they can be overcome soon. Keeping fingers crossed.

And just because I want to post a photo of cute horses at the farm (and not one of the village board):

Horses at Glynwood

On discernment, or lack there of, and health insurance

I am currently on a discernment committee through the vestry at my church. (Don’t worry, I won’t talk much about church.) A discernment committee, in the Episcopalian church, is created when someone in the parish wants to go to seminary and become a priest. The members and the candidate meet once a month for 6 to 12 months in order to “discern gifts for the ministry” or some such thing. We meet this person every month and talk to him about why he thinks he is being called to the priesthood, in order to make a judgment about whether the parish should recommend him for the seminary.

I have recently been struck by the absurdity of my presence on this committee. Not only am I one of the most opinionated and judgmental people in the group, I have no idea how to discern my own calling in life, let alone that of someone else.

I thought I had been called to be a bilingual, public-school elementary teacher, serving a low-income population of immigrants and their children learning English. I still feel passionately about bilingual education and advocating social justice for immigrants and minorities in the U.S., and maybe in the future I’ll want to work on those issues again, but I now know that teaching children in large groups is not the way I am supposed to achieve those goals.

The other day, I went to fill out an application form to be a substitute at the public school in town. I didn’t have time to finish the application there, so I brought it home and said I would bring it back the next day. That night, I had a nightmare about teaching a class of rowdy adolescents in my old school. I never turned in that application, and I am not sure I ever will. Obviously I feel a level of anxiety about classroom teaching that has not yet dissipated.

The dilemma I am experiencing right now is that I am paying $680 a month for COBRA to continue my health insurance, and my husband does not have health insurance, because it was much too expensive to have both of us on COBRA. We thought we’d be able to find something for him that was cheaper, in the age of Obamacare, but we haven’t so far. With the income from my part-time job at the paper and his from music lessons, we make more than the cutoff for poverty, so we don’t qualify for most forms of governmental health plans. But to expect to pay over $1500 a month for health insurance for two people is not feasible on what we do make.

The imperative at the moment is to find health insurance, and the only way we know how to do that is to get a job with benefits. We have been searching, though, even in the city, for a long time, and we haven’t exactly been offered many … or any, really.

Yesterday, I went to a job interview in the city for a full-time administrative aide position in a university department. I know it would be great to be able to have (1) a job that pays a reasonable salary, (2) health insurance, and (3) tuition credits as a benefit. The night before the interview, I looked at all the classes I would want to take if I were to get the position: language classes so that I could feel more comfortable pursuing translation, publishing or editing courses if I want to try going that way again in the future, web stuff because everyone wants someone who can do web stuff….

Then I wondered, at 35, whether I should take this job if they offer it to me. Do I want to be a secretary and delay an attempt to work as a copy editor or writer? Or maybe this is just a way to take a much-needed break from being burned out by teaching, and a time to really figure out what my calling could be?

Finally I conceded that I probably won’t get this job anyway, because they are spending the whole week interviewing people, and I have to admit that I didn’t show much excitement for the position, so I may not have to make that decision after all.

I guess I should work on making business cards and a website for myself, while still looking for a “real” job that I would love to take, and use my time wisely while I still have it. What exactly constitutes “wise use” remains to be seen.