Tag Archives: Work

I Need a Big Girl Job

I need a big girl job.

I don’t come across very well on paper. I know this. I hate talking about how awesome I am. Which is very awesome. I mean if you met me, you’d be amazed at just how awesome.

I can pretty much do anything I put my mind to, but I can’t very well put that on a resumé, now can I? I can read and process pretty much anything. I can write well. I can work with even the most difficult people. I am intuitive. I have been a counselor without the credentials since I was in middle school. I am a keeper of secrets. I am a teller of stories. I can teach anyone anything. I can get even the most quiet person to talk, or the loudest person to contemplate. I can cook. I can clean. I can drive. I can solve puzzles. Honestly, I really can do just about anything.

I have too much education. I have too little education. I have the wrong education.

I have too much experience. I have too little experience. I have the wrong experience.

I am too Jesus-y. I am not Jesus-y enough. I am the wrong kind of Jesus-y.

I am too queer. I am not queer enough. I am the wrong kind of queer.

I applied for tons of jobs today from summer groundskeeper at General Mills to after school recreation leader at the local Y. Tomorrow I will apply for more jobs from a social media position to an emergency shelter case worker for homeless teenagers. I likely won’t hear back from any of them.

I probably forgot to mention the right words in the online application. I might have misspelled something on my resumé. I may have even said exactly the wrong words to attract the digital bot that reads the database that’s created from the website.

I forget when I worked where. I forget to mention that I’ve written grants at several different jobs. I forget to spell out exactly what my responsibilities are at every job I’ve ever had.

I am not a game player.

I am not a hoop jumper.

I want a job search in which I go to the person who is offering the job, introduce myself, talk with him or her over coffee, and then have my application placed in the circular file. Or not. The better outcome would be to actually be offered a big girl job.

I want authenticity and no tricks. I want relationship. I am 40. I am too old to trifle.

I want a chance. One small, simple chance. I am the best big girl for your job. Let me prove it to you.

I have advanced degrees.I have lots of experience.

Can you please hire me?

I promise I won’t let you down.

Feeling vs. Looking. Books. Work.

I noticed this morning that my body is starting to feel better with the moderation of food, excluding the day when I ate an entire bag of holiday peppermint M&Ms, the careful attention to water consumption, and the additional exercise. I am beginning to feel like an athlete again, which is a great joy. Now here’s the sticky wicket: when I get to this point, I always want my body to start to looking like an athlete’s body as soon as possible. I know it doesn’t happen this way. I know it will take a good six months to start noticing bodily changes in the mirror. I always notice the changes in my pants first, and I have already started to notice the way they fit differently, a bit loser in the waist, a bit tighter in the thighs. Damn you, squats, I’ve only been at this for two weeks, and you’re already making my thighs big(ger). I don’t like to weigh myself all the time, because then I get really discouraged, so I’ll wait until January 23, one month from when I started at 235 pounds. Hopefully, we’ll see a bit loss, but I feel better, so all is well anyway.

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I finished Tiny Beautiful Things the other day, and decided the best thing I can do for my mental health is keep reading books. I fired up my new Kindle, a Christmas gift from my parents, and borrowed The Bloodletter’s Daughter. I know nothing about this book, except that it’s historical fiction and looks a little seedy. After I walk the dogs, this morning, I am going to start reading my first electronic book ever. I’m also finishing the last two chapters of Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, which has taken me forever to finish, and I’m starting Wild Things by Dave Eggers, which I owned at one point in my life, but must have lost somewhere. I purchased this copy from Half Price Books. Next on the list is the Wrinkle in Time trilogy, and from there who knows. My goal is just to read about a book a week or so and love them in the way I described in my last post.

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Work is going well. I love the coffee business. I just wish it paid a bit more, like double what it pays. Haha. Right.

Day 6 of Year 40: Things Are Looking Up From Here

In the interest of keeping this blog space for reals, I’m going to be honest and say that the last week has really sucked. Starting with my job-related meltdown during a supposedly romantic walk with my wife through the second I’m-all-alone-on-my-40th-birthday meltdown and ending with my third I’m-a-big-baby-and-nobody-loves-me-because-I’m-fat-and-work-at-Caribou-Coffee meltdown Saturday morning, this past week has been a giant crap sandwich of self-pity and self-loathing. Cue the Marilyn Manson soundtrack, or maybe the Smiths for those of you who kick it old school.

Let me go back a bit. Since March, when we knew we were moving to Minnesota, I’ve been praying for a job that will allow me to relax, have fun, get my smile back, and let me have my home time be home time. This is not a teaching job. I prayed specifically for a job in a bar or a coffee shop. I preferred one that was close to home. When I got to Minnesota, I started my job search by applying for teaching jobs, and not getting any, I started looking at other options. I applied at Trader Joe’s (not cool enough to work there after two interviews), I applied at a local brewery (not cool enough to even get an interview), and I applied at Caribou Coffee (where I was hired on the spot). For $8 an hour.

For $8 an hour. This simply wouldn’t do. I needed money. For those of you who know me, this probably seems quite strange, because I am the woman who sees money as green pieces of paper that float in and out of my life like snow. But I need to be able to pay the bills I’ve accrued while attaining my Oh, So Valuable Education. So I balked at this gift I’d been given. A space to relax, to make coffee, to be myself. See I thwarted the desires of my heart from the get go. Somehow working in a coffee shop or a bar seemed beneath my dignity. After all, I do have numerous graduate degrees. Somehow my own self-worth came only through a professional job; we do, here in the US of A, value people based on their livelihood. And I was now a coffee maker, a job I could’ve done straight out of high school. I had bought into all the classist assumptions I’d been taught to deconstruct. Apparently, I thought myself too cool to be working class, and too entitled as well. I deserve to teach because I have the degrees. I bought the system and all the hype I’ve always critiqued. Apparently, I bought into the capitalist machine. My job, whichever cog I was in the machine, determined my value. And I wasn’t a very valuable cog.

But wait.

My value does not come from which cog in the machine I am.

My value does not come from any external source.

My value comes from who I am and how I treat other people.

But I didn’t just get there from my pit of despair. It took some scratching and clawing, some chatting with friends, and some serious soul searching. God had just given me the desire of my heart: a job that doesn’t define me and that doesn’t follow me home. And I told [Them] to piss off about it. Seriously, God had given me what I asked for, and I was more than pissed about it. So, on the romantic walk with my wife, I was upset to the point of emitting a guttural cry. I couldn’t contain it, the tears poured, the sobs surged forth, and my body shook. I was hyperventilating in sadness. The system had betrayed me: I had multiple graduate degrees and I couldn’t find a job. I had played the game, and it screwed me. But wait. I had prayed for this job and gotten it.

So then, on my birthday, which was the day after the Great Deluge, I was all alone. In my house. In Minnesota. And I was turning 40. By myself. Did I mention that I was by myself? And, again, I was pissed and sad, and felt betrayed. I could have gone out and made a day of it by myself. I’m not afraid to be alone, and I’m not afraid to explore on my own. But I chose, instead, to sit in my living room and wallow in my own self-pity. I chose it. Willfully. By the time Bec got home from work to take me out, I was a basket case, and them we went to my favorite restaurant, and it was lovely and the funk started to reside. I made an effort to open my heart on our walk we took after dinner. And it helped.

So then, again, on Saturday when the funk came back, I wasn’t expecting it to manifest in an angry tear against the woman I love, but it did. I was angry at her for bringing me here. And I was angry with her for everything, basically, and it wasn’t her fault. But I said it was. And I was mean and ungrateful. You know, your typical self-centered asshole. And everything fell out: “I am fat, fifty pounds fatter than this time last year. I work for minimum wage at a fucking coffee shop. Do you even want me here? Do you even want to be with me?” Only instead of it coming out like that, it came out all accusatory and ugly and horrible. And we both cried. And it was awful.

But something clicked in me through the day yesterday. And kept clicking. It said to look at the beauty in my life. To focus on what is good and beautiful and wonder-filled.

My value does not come from which cog in the machine I am.

My value does not come from any external source.

My value comes from who I am and how I treat other people.

And right at those moments, my value was swirling around the bottom of the toilet bowl. I’ve been an asshole. You see, I think most people think that moving has been the biggest stress for me, leaving behind family and friends and familiar things. While that has been stressful, my biggest stress has been figuring out who I am again. I have been given this beautiful opportunity to rebuild myself from the ground up and I almost blew it on building myself into the same bitter jackass I was for the past couple of years in Muncie.

So who am I?

I am Corby. I hope to be a triathlete. I hope to be an excellent Caribou employee. I hope to love deeply. I hope to give grace. I hope to show much compassion. And I hope to be able to receive and recognize all the blessings in my life.

In accordance with my goals, I have quit smoking (okay, I had two on Friday Cheat Day); I have quit drinking (okay, I had three beers on Friday Cheat Day); I have a job at the ‘Bou; I went for a bike ride, and I went for a run, and we take a walk every night; and I’m working on the quiet time…

Here’s to love and life and beauty.

Lent Day 7: A Day of Busy

Today I was busy from 5AM until, well, right now. I had so much to do before I leave for Chicago in the morning, I wasn’t sure I would get it all finished. And, actually, I didn’t quite. I still have to get up early and go make copies of things for the substitute. I also need to finish filling out my student teachers’ evaluations, which will be easy because they are amazing this time around.

Spiritually, I am not sure there is anything I can think of to write about. I prayed, I read, I loved, I ate, I celebrated life. Simple things I do each day. I did get a little crazy and eat ice cream for dinner.

It was a toss up between this and Chunky Monkey.

This is why my serious thought about Lent or spirituality actually came this morning, during the morning prayer in the words of Jean Vanier, founder of the L’Arche communities, which are featured in some of Henri Nouwen‘s works:

Almost everyone finds their early days in a community ideal. It all seems perfect. They feel they are surrounded by saints, heroes, or at the least, most exceptional -people who are everything they want to be themselves. And then comes the let-down. The greater their idealization of the community at the start, the greater the disenchantment. If -people manage to get through this second period, they come to a third phase — that of realism and of true commitment. They no longer see other members of the community as saints or devils, but as -people — each with a mixture of good and bad, darkness and light, each growing and each with their own hope. The community is neither heaven nor hell, but planted firmly on earth, and they are ready to walk in it, and with it. They accept the community and the other members as they are; they are confident that together they can grow towards something more beautiful.

More than any other quote I’ve encountered, this one exemplifies my relationship with Burris Laboratory School. I am (finally) in the stage where I think I can recognize that my colleagues aren’t “saints or devils,” but I can see them as people who walk the earth much in the same way I do. I know Vanier’s thoughts were written/uttered about spiritual communities, but in many ways I need to see my workplace as a spiritual place, not in the creepy “I want God back in schools” kind of way, but in the way Matt talked about on Sunday. I have been placed by God at Burris and I need to put my whole heart into my work, which for me means I need to see the spiritual relevance of the place. And what is more spiritual than shaping and forming the intellectual development and curiosity of our fellow humans? Thinking in this fashion helps hold me much more accountable.

Peace.