If Only I Had Made My Home Among the Cattle

It’s day six of Nashville living, and I am still unemployed.  It’s no surprise since I spent two years looking for employment in the abstract field of writing—a major I literally created since my college didn’t offer it.  But, perhaps that’s why its so difficult.  Having a degree in writing doesn’t exactly prepare me for a job in journalism or teaching.  It’s one of those theoretical, hypothetical, abstract educations that may or may not land me somewhere relevant.

My best friend from Ohio has a degree in early childhood education and has been teaching at a private school since our graduation.  She just told me this morning that she got her dream job, a position as a creative arts program assistant, and is moving to Pittsburgh where she’ll be living near her boyfriend. I am sincerely thrilled for her…I think? Yet, I find a part of me is not so pleased.  And which part is that, you ask?  The selfish part that envies her for finding a job after a brief, one month hunt!

Today I was supposed to hit the ground running looking for jobs.  Unfortunately, that news wasn’t really the most encouraging start to my day.  But, determined to be happy for my friend and helpful to myself, I put on my best business-casual outfit and headed out the door to visit some local bookstores.  After three hours of drop-ins and putting myself out there, I found myself no closer to having a job.  The stores either weren’t hiring or they will be “reviewing” my resume, and by they they mean their paper shredder.

Who knows, maybe working at a bookstore isn’t what I’d really want anyways.  After all, with such an abstract degree with seemingly endless possibilities, I still have no clue what my dream job would even look like.  Maybe being among the livestock isn’t so bad.  Maybe I shouldn’t have individualized and made up my own major.  Maybe being herded along into a specific pen would have made my life a whole lot easier.  I can’t find it in me to regret my decision though.  I still have an unwavering, insatiable proclivity towards words, literature, and make-believe.  You can’t quite find that in nursing school, now can you?