LJ Idol: When You Pray, Move Your Feet
This is the first of what I hope to be many entries in the contest known as LJ Idol, in which one writes entries based on given prompts, and they are voted off the island if deemed not good enough by the masses, of course! Even though I'm writing on prompts, there should be enough autobiographical navel-gazing to keep my usual readers entertained.
The purest mix of hard work and wishful thinking can be found in the job search. You polish your resume, make sure your ducks are all in a row on your application, try to present yourself as poised and articulate in your interview, and then...you wait. And hope. And wish. And pray, maybe, if you think a deity cares enough about you to instill the thought in a manager's mind that perhaps you - yes, you! would be the most likely choice for the position.
In my case, fortunately, I already have a job. And it's a good job. The company is generally decent to their employees, the work is interesting. I am a lab tech who tests donated blood samples. It's going to be awhile before anyone comes up with a viable alternative to the real thing, so there is excellent job security. Even more job security is offered by the fact that we're currently quite under-staffed. Overtime opportunities abound. There are lots of incentives payed out for hard work and going the extra mile. If I stayed with this company, it is easy to work up to better positions and better pay grades. I seem to be generally well-liked, and there seems to always be free cake in the break room every other week.
There is only one problem. This job is in Phoenix, Arizona. Now, I'm from San Francisco and went to college in the lush redwood forests of Santa Cruz. I took this job knowing full well that I'd be moving to a different climate which mostly revolves around frighteningly hot summers, unfriendly flora, and rocks. And at the time, I needed a job. I was living with my parents, walking people's dogs for cash to put me though phlebotomy school, and learning rather quickly that I simply don't have the bravery or lack of compassion it takes to jam needles into people, especially when it looks like getting blood on the first stab is going to be a slim possibility (my classmates loved me - we practiced on each other and I have some excellent veins). I had a friend out in Phoenix, though, who worked at a lab where my phlebotomy training would come in handy but never actually have to be put into practice. I had a couple interviews, got the job, though I recently learned that I'm the only one who applied, and drove for one very long day to Phoenix. I picked an apartment complex solely by photos on the internet, signed the lease without even seeing the building, and moved in on a beautiful July day with a high temperature of 114 degrees. That was three years and three months ago.
I have tried, very hard, to like Phoenix. I've been to her museums, joined the SCA in a bid to meet friends, had a couple relationships, travelled around the state, and hiked in the open spaces. I volunteered at the Desert Botanical Gardens (where I was mistaken for a member of the teen group, oh, I was so happy!) and attended civic events. And this town...this town just doesn't do it for me.
I do not like triple digit temperatures for five months out of the year, and the enthusiastic air-conditioning bills they generate (my apartment is set at 83 degrees and still the bill makes me wince). I do not like, when I go hiking, the vast majority of views are of decomposing granite and little bushes barely clinging to life. The politics of Arizona are sometimes harsh and though they do not affect me over-much, my San Franciscan sensitivities are a bit offended. This city, and this is an opinion shared by many of my friends, should not be so big in a climate so harsh. We go to extraordinary lengths to keep the valley luxurious for...correct me if I'm wrong, 3 million people. And although I've tried and failed to embrace the desert as my home, others have gone to expensive lengths to live in denial of the climate, planting expansive lawns that require 3 inches of water a day just to keep from scorching (the recommended way of setting one's sprinklers is to put an empty tuna fish can on the lawn and run the water until the can is topped off). There are plans to build an indoor snow park - a snow park! on the outskirts of town, complete with ski hill and fake pine trees. Fantasy is excellent and I embrace it whole-heartedly...when I'm in Disneyland. But I don't like the desert and I can't try to turn it into something it's not. I have a bumper sticker on my car that I placed there within six months of moving here, when I decided that living in Phoenix was perhaps not what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. It says "LOVE PHOENIX OR LEAVE PHOENIX". Well, I tried loving it, I really have. And now, I should probably leave.
Where do I want to go? Seattle. Seattle is where I want to go, and where I want to settle. Okay, so Seattle isn't the most lovely of cities. The skies rain, or more accurately, spit, for most of the year. It's cold, wet, dreary, depressing, grey, and filled with depressed people running from cups of coffee to bottles of booze. At least, this is what I've been led to believe by well-meaning Phoenicians who see no reason to trade their air conditioning for heaters and dehumidifiers. "Why would you ever want to live in such a cloudy place?" they ask. It's often that then I open the blinds of whatever room we're in, causing everyone to blink and shade their eyes from the blistering summer sun (this technique, of course, works best in June, July, and August). I like rainy weather. There was one winter in Santa Cruz where it rained almost nonstop. And I had an outside job at the time. And I loved it. Great times. I love sitting by the window with a nice cup of tea, watching the rain. I love going for walks and listening to the sound of millions of tiny droplets hit the ground, the plants, the buildings, and muffle everything, slightly. On rainy days, the world is more cozy, more intimate. We are sheltered, under the cloud. There is no guilt about choosing to stay inside and work on writing or art, because it's not a gorgeous day outside, it's not going to waste. Even on triple-digit days out in this desert, I kind of feel guilty when I'm going to enjoy indoor activities, because at least it's sunny out there. I could have gotten up at 6am to go for a walk, when it was still 85 degrees.
I miss the forests. I miss trees blocking my view, I miss their shade and their effects on the ground. On my nature walks out here in Phoenix, the ground is hard and sharp. There are no rounded edges anywhere, and depending on what cactus you plan to hug, you may spend the rest of the afternoon in urgent care getting to know a nurse wielding industrial tweezers. When you go for a walk, there is no shade. There will never be cooler spots on the trail. Flowers, tiny as they probably will be, are to be treasured, to be taken photos of. It is a glorious occasion when you see wildlife. And if you get lost, and many people do especially while looking for the Lost Dutchman's Mine in the craggy Superstition Mountains east of town, the risk of dying of exposure is notable. Now, of course, getting lost in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest would also be a bad idea, but at least one should be able to find water. Many people like this climate, and love the landscapes. Big open sky, dramatic vistas, a sense that nature definitely is the boss, and room to roam. But I've tried it, and I don't like it.
My first visit to Seattle was when I was somewhere in the range of 8 or 9 years old, and I was smitten. True, we happened to be there in a sunny week of August (a bit of a heat wave had hit) and so the city was sparkling, warm, and inviting, but I thought it was a paradise. There was the Pike Place Market to explore, the fantastic mountains with their cloud forests of mossy mystery, glorious green and flowers everywhere I looked. The ever-present snow on Mt Rainier, admired from my great aunt's backyard, would turn pink with the sunset. I was told it was strawberry ice cream. Almost as good as the ice cream were raspberries that my aunt grew, as sweet as candy and impossible to grow in the soil of my childhood home. We went camping, we went to aquariums, we visited the thundering Snoqualmie Falls, we traveled the waters of Puget Sound by ferry. I was hooked.
20 years later, the magic hasn't faded. I've made friends in the Seattle area, and many of my friends from college have moved up north to settle there. Even my friend from Phoenix, who originally encouraged me to move out to the desert and work in her lab, has moved to Seattle. I've visited Washington state almost annually for the past four or five years, and it's still a verdant wonderland full of friends and water and delightful seafood, I might add.
This eventually brings us to how I get out of here and journey up there. I need employment. I could just quit my job and move up there, settling first and hitting the pavement in search of employment next, and perhaps my finances would allow for that, but it's too risky for my tastes. I've had friends out of work for months - years, in some cases, and although they're not in the market for typically stable medical jobs as I am, the job market isn't hot for anybody right now.
And so, I've been applying. And applying and applying and applying. I have to admit that while I desperately want to move, I'm not about to pick a job I think I won't enjoy. I declined to apply for a career caring for and then dissecting laboratory mice, for instance. I have not applied for part time low wage grunt jobs. I'm looking for a career, and I've found a few labs that not only have jobs that I'm qualified to do, but jobs very similar to what I already do. I flood them with resumes and cover letters. I fill out their poorly designed applications and mail them back, with extra stamps just in case the envelope is stuffed all the way into the next weight category. I've got my name in with a staffing agency in Seattle, that might just land me a job, though their listings seem to be currently for either temporary positions or ones that require a PhD. I interview by phone, answering difficult questions and trying not to stutter too much or let them know how nervous I really am. I mention that I can fly up for an in-person interview, no problem, and that I don't need financial assistance for moving. I send them thank you notes after the interview and keep the phone fully charged and by the bed, in case they decide to call at some ungodly hour with more information for me.
And then...and then I pray, my own dance completed. I wish that a little decision that means so little to the employer will be turned in my favor and change my life. I want out of here, but unless I want to risk economic ruin, that possibility is ultimately in someone else's hands.
The purest mix of hard work and wishful thinking can be found in the job search. You polish your resume, make sure your ducks are all in a row on your application, try to present yourself as poised and articulate in your interview, and then...you wait. And hope. And wish. And pray, maybe, if you think a deity cares enough about you to instill the thought in a manager's mind that perhaps you - yes, you! would be the most likely choice for the position.
In my case, fortunately, I already have a job. And it's a good job. The company is generally decent to their employees, the work is interesting. I am a lab tech who tests donated blood samples. It's going to be awhile before anyone comes up with a viable alternative to the real thing, so there is excellent job security. Even more job security is offered by the fact that we're currently quite under-staffed. Overtime opportunities abound. There are lots of incentives payed out for hard work and going the extra mile. If I stayed with this company, it is easy to work up to better positions and better pay grades. I seem to be generally well-liked, and there seems to always be free cake in the break room every other week.
There is only one problem. This job is in Phoenix, Arizona. Now, I'm from San Francisco and went to college in the lush redwood forests of Santa Cruz. I took this job knowing full well that I'd be moving to a different climate which mostly revolves around frighteningly hot summers, unfriendly flora, and rocks. And at the time, I needed a job. I was living with my parents, walking people's dogs for cash to put me though phlebotomy school, and learning rather quickly that I simply don't have the bravery or lack of compassion it takes to jam needles into people, especially when it looks like getting blood on the first stab is going to be a slim possibility (my classmates loved me - we practiced on each other and I have some excellent veins). I had a friend out in Phoenix, though, who worked at a lab where my phlebotomy training would come in handy but never actually have to be put into practice. I had a couple interviews, got the job, though I recently learned that I'm the only one who applied, and drove for one very long day to Phoenix. I picked an apartment complex solely by photos on the internet, signed the lease without even seeing the building, and moved in on a beautiful July day with a high temperature of 114 degrees. That was three years and three months ago.
I have tried, very hard, to like Phoenix. I've been to her museums, joined the SCA in a bid to meet friends, had a couple relationships, travelled around the state, and hiked in the open spaces. I volunteered at the Desert Botanical Gardens (where I was mistaken for a member of the teen group, oh, I was so happy!) and attended civic events. And this town...this town just doesn't do it for me.
I do not like triple digit temperatures for five months out of the year, and the enthusiastic air-conditioning bills they generate (my apartment is set at 83 degrees and still the bill makes me wince). I do not like, when I go hiking, the vast majority of views are of decomposing granite and little bushes barely clinging to life. The politics of Arizona are sometimes harsh and though they do not affect me over-much, my San Franciscan sensitivities are a bit offended. This city, and this is an opinion shared by many of my friends, should not be so big in a climate so harsh. We go to extraordinary lengths to keep the valley luxurious for...correct me if I'm wrong, 3 million people. And although I've tried and failed to embrace the desert as my home, others have gone to expensive lengths to live in denial of the climate, planting expansive lawns that require 3 inches of water a day just to keep from scorching (the recommended way of setting one's sprinklers is to put an empty tuna fish can on the lawn and run the water until the can is topped off). There are plans to build an indoor snow park - a snow park! on the outskirts of town, complete with ski hill and fake pine trees. Fantasy is excellent and I embrace it whole-heartedly...when I'm in Disneyland. But I don't like the desert and I can't try to turn it into something it's not. I have a bumper sticker on my car that I placed there within six months of moving here, when I decided that living in Phoenix was perhaps not what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. It says "LOVE PHOENIX OR LEAVE PHOENIX". Well, I tried loving it, I really have. And now, I should probably leave.
Where do I want to go? Seattle. Seattle is where I want to go, and where I want to settle. Okay, so Seattle isn't the most lovely of cities. The skies rain, or more accurately, spit, for most of the year. It's cold, wet, dreary, depressing, grey, and filled with depressed people running from cups of coffee to bottles of booze. At least, this is what I've been led to believe by well-meaning Phoenicians who see no reason to trade their air conditioning for heaters and dehumidifiers. "Why would you ever want to live in such a cloudy place?" they ask. It's often that then I open the blinds of whatever room we're in, causing everyone to blink and shade their eyes from the blistering summer sun (this technique, of course, works best in June, July, and August). I like rainy weather. There was one winter in Santa Cruz where it rained almost nonstop. And I had an outside job at the time. And I loved it. Great times. I love sitting by the window with a nice cup of tea, watching the rain. I love going for walks and listening to the sound of millions of tiny droplets hit the ground, the plants, the buildings, and muffle everything, slightly. On rainy days, the world is more cozy, more intimate. We are sheltered, under the cloud. There is no guilt about choosing to stay inside and work on writing or art, because it's not a gorgeous day outside, it's not going to waste. Even on triple-digit days out in this desert, I kind of feel guilty when I'm going to enjoy indoor activities, because at least it's sunny out there. I could have gotten up at 6am to go for a walk, when it was still 85 degrees.
I miss the forests. I miss trees blocking my view, I miss their shade and their effects on the ground. On my nature walks out here in Phoenix, the ground is hard and sharp. There are no rounded edges anywhere, and depending on what cactus you plan to hug, you may spend the rest of the afternoon in urgent care getting to know a nurse wielding industrial tweezers. When you go for a walk, there is no shade. There will never be cooler spots on the trail. Flowers, tiny as they probably will be, are to be treasured, to be taken photos of. It is a glorious occasion when you see wildlife. And if you get lost, and many people do especially while looking for the Lost Dutchman's Mine in the craggy Superstition Mountains east of town, the risk of dying of exposure is notable. Now, of course, getting lost in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest would also be a bad idea, but at least one should be able to find water. Many people like this climate, and love the landscapes. Big open sky, dramatic vistas, a sense that nature definitely is the boss, and room to roam. But I've tried it, and I don't like it.
My first visit to Seattle was when I was somewhere in the range of 8 or 9 years old, and I was smitten. True, we happened to be there in a sunny week of August (a bit of a heat wave had hit) and so the city was sparkling, warm, and inviting, but I thought it was a paradise. There was the Pike Place Market to explore, the fantastic mountains with their cloud forests of mossy mystery, glorious green and flowers everywhere I looked. The ever-present snow on Mt Rainier, admired from my great aunt's backyard, would turn pink with the sunset. I was told it was strawberry ice cream. Almost as good as the ice cream were raspberries that my aunt grew, as sweet as candy and impossible to grow in the soil of my childhood home. We went camping, we went to aquariums, we visited the thundering Snoqualmie Falls, we traveled the waters of Puget Sound by ferry. I was hooked.
20 years later, the magic hasn't faded. I've made friends in the Seattle area, and many of my friends from college have moved up north to settle there. Even my friend from Phoenix, who originally encouraged me to move out to the desert and work in her lab, has moved to Seattle. I've visited Washington state almost annually for the past four or five years, and it's still a verdant wonderland full of friends and water and delightful seafood, I might add.
This eventually brings us to how I get out of here and journey up there. I need employment. I could just quit my job and move up there, settling first and hitting the pavement in search of employment next, and perhaps my finances would allow for that, but it's too risky for my tastes. I've had friends out of work for months - years, in some cases, and although they're not in the market for typically stable medical jobs as I am, the job market isn't hot for anybody right now.
And so, I've been applying. And applying and applying and applying. I have to admit that while I desperately want to move, I'm not about to pick a job I think I won't enjoy. I declined to apply for a career caring for and then dissecting laboratory mice, for instance. I have not applied for part time low wage grunt jobs. I'm looking for a career, and I've found a few labs that not only have jobs that I'm qualified to do, but jobs very similar to what I already do. I flood them with resumes and cover letters. I fill out their poorly designed applications and mail them back, with extra stamps just in case the envelope is stuffed all the way into the next weight category. I've got my name in with a staffing agency in Seattle, that might just land me a job, though their listings seem to be currently for either temporary positions or ones that require a PhD. I interview by phone, answering difficult questions and trying not to stutter too much or let them know how nervous I really am. I mention that I can fly up for an in-person interview, no problem, and that I don't need financial assistance for moving. I send them thank you notes after the interview and keep the phone fully charged and by the bed, in case they decide to call at some ungodly hour with more information for me.
And then...and then I pray, my own dance completed. I wish that a little decision that means so little to the employer will be turned in my favor and change my life. I want out of here, but unless I want to risk economic ruin, that possibility is ultimately in someone else's hands.