Unrushed but unemployed, Laurine Croasdale keeps busy eyeing greener pastures.
Afriend sent an email last week to see how I was coping with my continuing unemployment. She was busy. Crazily busy. She had breakfast meetings, reports to write, research to do, power lunches and classes.
A year ago, I might have sympathised with her. But as I clicked off her email and lay down with a wet towel across my forehead, I wondered why it was that the grass seemed perpetually greener on the other side.
We've all gazed at that patch of green hovering somewhere above our computer terminal, fantasising about what we'd do with lots of free time. Suddenly, I have it but just as suddenly, I have limited options and a bank account in free fall.
Can being unemployed with huge gobs of time to spare denude that patch of clover? Sure, I don't wake up in darkness to fight traffic any more. And I don't sweat about finishing work, getting home, having dinner and going to a meeting. Nor do I miss the office politics.
But - and it's a big but - the "play" option is now on "pause".
I monitor job sites, visit the sleepy employment bureau and learn how to crank up my CV so it falls just short of running a small African nation singlehanded.
I discover interview tips such as not accepting a biscuit and cup of tea from my interviewer in case I choke. When all else fails, I fall into the abyss of social media ... and I bake. I can now offer recipes for flapjacks, banana cake, lemon cake and apple crumble - and I have the love handles to prove it.
After six months, more advertisements appear. The GFC is easing and job freezes are thawing. I spend days agonising over applications. But time moves on and I'm still at home. Digging has never been my forte - no rhythm. But some days, it feels right stomping around in a weedy garden patch throwing dirt around because, if nothing else, it wears me out and gives me a sense of achievement.
The upsurge in jobs leads to an upsurge in interviews. I must be getting closer. I cut my hair, debush the eyebrows, dust off the work clothes and front up.
Nice place, nice interviewer, hundreds of applicants. Was I too short, too old, not educated enough, too experienced, too expensive? In the end, "unfortunately" covers it all.
The other handy skill for dealing with implosion is trimming trees. It combines contortionism with a sharp instrument; the former not an obvious gift of mine and the latter a poor choice of object to engage with. But hell, in the end, there's nothing like climbing a tree and waving a bush saw about. So is the grass greener? For my friend that day, it certainly was.
For me, well, there are many days when I feel like I'm on the wrong side of the fence watching the kids in the playground.
But I've also learnt patience, acceptance and perseverance, achieved some personal goals and been humbled by support from family, friends and colleagues. So in spite of all the downs, there are days when the grass is just the right colour, too.
- laurinecroasdale.com
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