I almost completely hate the movie “He’s Just Not That Into You” on the principal of “he’s just not that important” except for a small fondness for the part when Drew Barrymore says,
“I had this guy leave me a voice mail at work so I called him at home and then he e-mailed me to my Blackberry and so I texted to his cell and then he e-mailed me to my home account and the whole thing just got out of control…And now you just have to go around checking all these different portals just to get rejected by seven different technologies. It’s exhausting.”
And it is exhausting. It’s exhausting for my single friends, and now it’s exhausting for my un(or under) employed friends too. I feel exactly that same way about career growth as poor Drew (aptly named Mary in the movie) feels about trying to connect with a gentleman caller. It was bad enough when I was surfing the world of teaching jobs and had to upload all of my eggs AND my basket onto strange “consortium” webpages, submitting generic applications to every district in southern Ohio with a single click. It was stressful, uncertain and horribly ineffective.
But now, only a few years have passed, and I have quickly found that I am already oppressively behind when it comes to soliciting myself to the hiring public. I have the personal solicitations skills of a walnut. I have a hard enough time looking in the mirror in the morning without obsessing over my thighs, let alone enough time in the day to worry about my resume and its thighs. It took me hours to feel satisfied with my LinkedIn profile, and it’s a relatively generic career portal. I compulsively Google myself to make sure that people can’t find my Facebook, Twitter, or 15 year old DeadJournal because…why? I guess I have an irrational fear of a future employer discovering I’m obsessed with my nieces and don’t know how to properly smile in photographs.
I can only imagine how difficult this world is going to become for me. I am someone who still texts using T9 and starts to sweat when strangers hand me an iPhone expecting me to photograph an important moment. I take solace in the fact that I am a quick learner, I type faster than anyone I know (on a keyboard and with T9) and I really, really hate to fail. How’s that for a digital resume?
Now if only I can find a picture normal enough for the general viewing public where I look like someone you’d want to collaborate with for years to come and my face isn’t smooshed into a niece, a friend or a doughnut…