I fucking hate that phrase. Though it’s said with the best will and intention in the world, when it’s not working out, it’s not what you need to hear. Because we all know it’ll work out in the end – be it a week, a month, a year – it has to, that’s how life works, in the end. But until it’s working out, you’ve got to sit it out. And wait. And wait again. And get annoyed at everyone telling you it’ll all work out when it just ISN’T WORKING OUT. And cry, laugh, cry again. And then… Something switches, and it happens, and you’re able to write from a place where maybe, just maybe, you’re beginning to see the starts of your working-out-in-the-end. This – I hope – is mine.
I worked my arse off at the start of the year having advertised myself as a voluntary freelance copywriter/content writer, end goal being to land an entry-level job in the field. Job ad after job ad required (if not a degree), experience – in most cases, at least 2 years’ worth at a credible agency. I have two weeks’ worth, and I do not have a degree. If anything, this made me more determined, and when combined with the mightiest OOSH to go for it (words, for once, have failed me), it worked. I ended up landing a fair few gigs – some unpaid, some paid (a Brucie Bonus!), some really fucking cool that I’ll shout about in the future (if the NDAs allow it). I won’t pretend I hadn’t fantasised about being as in-demand as Harry Potter was on that Sunday – but I knew I couldn’t just sit and wait for opportunities to land in my lap. I’d needed to put myself out there for a while – months, in fact, before I actually did – but I don’t think that you can force it with things like this. I’m the kind of person that struggles to bring myself to do something until I really want to do that something – I work better off adrenaline; I’m content waiting for the morning I wake up and have that today’s the day feeling.
When the day was the day, I crafted an aesthetically-average poster – EXPERIENCE WANTED in big, bold letters at the top, a black and white legitimately candid photo of me laughing (I was stuck for what else to put there, really), a short piece of copy (74 words) explaining who I was (a wannabe), what I was after, what I could do – that I stuck up around my village and emailed to local businesses/councils/contacts. And then every day was the day – I saw my face in my local Post Office window every time I returned too much online shopping; I saw my face on the ads board at the back of my local OneStop every time I nipped out for a tub of emergency Ben and Jerry’s at 9pm. In fact, I think I’m still up there now…
*****
A few weeks ago, things ended with a guy I’d been seeing since the end of February. Hide the disappointment that he’s not the star of the show here – to be honest, and on the whole, he was a lovely guy, the kind of guy you’d want to date after a long time of not ‘properly’ dating someone. It wasn’t right – sometimes, it just isn’t quite right (I don’t think we found each other that funny…) – we both knew it, and it went on for probably a little longer than it should have. Still, I won’t pretend that I wasn’t upset that it ended – but I’d figured that was the way things were heading weeks before; he cemented it when he rolled over and told me (I like to think he meant it rather innocently, in a ‘poor you’ kind of way…) that I really must be tired because I had really dark circles under my eyes. I mean, I did (I think I always do?) – I was stressed and exhausted – but hon, I own a mirror. And a concealer stick. And now an expensive tube of eye-cream… I didn’t realise this situation ending would be the catalyst for a few down days – the kind of days I hadn’t experienced in a while – but then again I was juggling a fair amount of other stress-y things, and life got a bit on top of me. I took a WFH day, and then I took a sick (stress) day.
From the heaviness of a bit of a topsy-turvy head and after a good cry, a sulk and a mope (thrown in for good measure), I got a few things out of my system. I realised I needed to pick myself up and start to make headway for a proper change: I drank a coffee, then another, and starting crafting cover letters for a few writing jobs in Leeds.
Why Leeds? I spend half my life on the M1 travelling to stay with friends from school in the North, in the North. And I miss my friends. And Leeds is a cool place (that’s not London) to do what I wanna do. With cool companies that do what I wanna do.
These cover letters, mind, were to test the waters. And by test, I mean I wrote charged with emotion to produce letters that showed my personality – they were passionate, humourous (I’m biased), and sarcastic. I even linked a photo of my infamous (if I do say so myself) raspberry brownies. After all, what, really, is there ever to lose?
My letters caught attention which caught the interview which caught me spending an hour waffling and rambling like I’ve never waffled or rambled before. I came away feeling (besides bloody hot and sweaty for May decided to get HOT) a combination of, well, not quite a car crash but definitely not award-winning – thanks to my sister for being able to sum up an okay interview.
I was then set a writing task, a brief brief (ha!) about artificial intelligence, sustainability and business. For the first time in what feels like a long time, I had to use my brain (nice to know you’re still in there, somewhere!), and it felt good. I was satisfied enough with what I’d written to submit, but I wasn’t the most confident about it, and I spent the afternoon playing shops with my eldest niece. I didn’t even consider doing my usual getting-carried-away creating awfully unrealistic ideas of what could be, working out which supermarket I’d be closest to, what kinds of work outfits I’d wear etc. To say it took me by surprise that I got a call the very next day offering me the job would be an understatement. I’d also say taking such a call in a noisy, multi-storey NCP car park wasn’t one of my best ideas – but hey, you live and you learn.
That brings me here, lying on my bed at my Mum’s house on a Wednesday evening full of Mowgli food and the delightfully-buzzy combination of prosecco, lager and red wine (wild). It’s all happened fast – I didn’t expect things to turn around so quickly jobwise, and I’ll be moving house for the second time in two months(!) soon. I’m nervous in a good way and I’m definitely excited; I’m gradually allowing myself to think that some of ‘it’ might just be steadily working out. I mean, I do need to work out where I’m going to live, but… That’s tomorrow’s problem. I’ve got a matter of weeks to pull everything together – new city, new job, new house, new housemates, new addresses for EVERYTHING… But I’ve surprised myself in how chilled I am about just rolling with it. Maybe that’s what your mid-twenties is all about. At 18, I was on the Eurostar two weeks after getting offered a job in Paris. I reckon I’ve still got it in me.
It goes without saying that life does have an odd – a very fucking odd – way of working out… And I’m not saying my life needs to be worked out – far from it – but it’s nice to have things falling a little more into place. I was always looking to move away from Leicester (but, Covid), regardless of starting something with that guy. And I’m really very thankful that he didn’t bother to arrange a ‘fun’ (and what turned out to be our last) date that Friday, because it prompted me to properly check out. And then take some time to myself. You don’t realise how precious your own time is until you realise how much of your time you’ve been giving away. Without a bit of time off, a reset, some adrenaline, I doubt I’d have applied for this job. A job that I know I’m in straight at the deep end with, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ve been sat idle for too long, and I’m so ready. Here’s to things slowly working out. (And if they don’t, well, we’ll cross that bridge if we get to it.)
Originally written on Wednesday 2nd June.
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