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So close to my escape, and so far from reality. Talking to a friend this morning about my second round interview with the Singapore tech company. “The interviewer was not really connected. At the beginning, he said, ‘Here, let me pull up your resume.’ So, I’m not sure about how that went. We had a good talk. He mentioned something about ‘not having product management experience,’ so I told him about Dell.”
I wish it had gone like my first round with the recruiter. This guy was HR. New to his role. Not feeling well, he said.
“I’m still applying. Found one at the University of Texas that looked good, a long shot, of course. And, I go back to the grind at 11 this morning.”
I’m ready to visit my friend in Bozeman. The snow is falling. He’s got land with a forest of old-growth trees. A house he built from cutting and planing the lumber himself. He’s also one of my most magical musician friends. I think he’s doing jazz a small clubs across Montana. I’d love to see him. Chat about cabbages and kings. Commune with an old friend as we continue to slog through the trenches of this freakish moment.
A little snow would do me good. A beach, too. My current job offers only intermittent days off in a row. It is not sustainable.
“I hope that I’m out of there by Thanksgiving. The holiday mass shopping is brutal. Certainly, by Christmas. Gotta keep applying. I like the Texas gig too, it would be more reliable, more laid back. A chance to stay for more than a year. That’s my hope, anyway.”
“You’ve got to keep going,” he said. “Maybe we can hit more tennis balls next Sunday.”
“Maybe two Sundays from now.”
Of course, the flip side is also creating pressure. I’m running out of savings to fund my low-wage recovery job. Fuck. Massive action is required. Double down on the job search. Pause the novel sales motions, as much as they give me hopeful energy, I have to focus on this moment, this immediate crisis. There is no one to bail me out. No rescue coming. What can I sell? Who do I need to reach out to for work?
If it’s all in god’s plan, then I’m exactly where I need to be, right? Like I say in these moments, “They will be done, not mine.” I’m not sure how well it works out, but I’m still here. Still dreaming the big dreams. Enlightening myself at every opportunity. Seeking solitude and serenity. Poking lightly at the chupacabra. He needs to show his plans. Show that he’s doing more than fucking around in the garage and tweaking out on something all night. The Ukraine phone call again this morning. I was up at 5 am.
“She’s 27, and amazing.”
“Um…”
“The Ukrainian woman I’m interviewing.”
“What’s the pay?”
“Twenty bucks an hour.”
“Well, good luck.”
“She was hot man. And nice.”
“Sort of nailed your type, eh?”
“Reminds me of Asya.”
He had an escape plan of his own, a few years ago. Was going to graduate and flee to Bulgaria with Asya. I helped pay to get him to New York for her graduation. He missed her walk. He was late. They broke up. He slipped into shame about his failure to finish college on time and his loss of the love of his life. More, I think he fell down because his escape plan was lost. What he was going to do there, besides be with her, I have no idea. I think he liked the idea of an expatriate lifestyle. Hm… Me too.
Me to the beach alone in Winter. Me to the mountains with my daughter to ski. Me getting this job out of Singapore and getting to travel monthly. All ahead in the distance. All mirage effects and panic. He might be panicked. Refusing to actually get a jobby job so he would have the money and the all-important pay stubs to qualify for an apartment of his own. The last time his parents secured his apartment, my ex-wife and her husband were left on the hook for 9 months of rent, even after my son had abandoned his post in Dallas. The apartment and rent were the least of our worries. I am not interested in being his cosigner on anything.
I’m trying to stay disinterested in what is actually going on with the guns and molly and his all-night adventures. I have learned to let him go. To protect my own space and peace of mind. He is my son; he is not within my powers to force a change. The change is coming for both of us. A job for both of us would be a great start. A trip to snow country this holiday season could happen, but not from where I am existing now. In two hours, I have to leave for the grocery gig. Serve the beautiful and wealthy. Dance around like a happy cashier. Flip my mindfulness practice into a coping mechanism. Not a bad idea. I’d prefer to have a wage more commensurate with my experience. Not too much experience, though. That’s what keeps some jobs out of reach.
