I had a dream last night about an old school friend who was struggling at work. No one seemed to like her, and she couldn’t seem to get anything right. I sat down next to her and said, ‘You are trying so hard, but nothing is working. You love being creative, ...and it’s where things seem to flow, so why don’t you focus on that?’
I’m currently navigating the job market, looking to secure a part-time role that will work alongside my music degree in September. And it’s been really hard. Like my friend in the dream, nothing is really working.
Whether it’s ‘you came in a close second,’ ‘it was a really hard decision,’ ‘thanks for your interest in the company,’ ‘we wish you all the luck with your job search,’ or sometimes just nothing - all great ambiguous material for my rejection sensitivity to ruminate over, misinterpret, and generally persecute me with.
In some ways I think what my nervous system needs is to be told clearly, with no room for doubt, why I wasn’t picked.
Essentially, that’s what this process is. It’s the Pick Me Parade, and it’s tiring, and honestly I just want to excuse myself, find somewhere dark to lie down and take a big old nap.
But why does the parade still feel a little enticing? Because it feels like it carries more meaning to me than ‘just’ getting a job.
My decision to step away from the organisation I co-founded and co-led for over 14 years was a difficult one, to say the least. Where I ended, and it started, was blurred, and honestly, it was the main character of my story from my late twenties, through all of my thirties, and into my forties. Leaving it left me with some uncomfortable questions - who am I now? What do I want? What shall I do with my time? Was it all worth it?
I have noticed that instead of sitting with those questions and giving space for the answers to arrive, I have been looking outside for something to distract me, enlighten me, and even validate my decision to leave when I did. My job search has been the perfect vehicle for that avoidance and a necessary one, because, like so many others, I need money to live.
I also want to have a purpose, connect with others, and find meaning.
The truth is there is and always has been something that already gives me all three of those things. I’ve been writing songs for as long as I can remember. It’s how I make sense of the world, and when my inner critic is quiet enough and my imposter syndrome is taking a day off in lieu - it flows and feels easy. It’s where I find purpose, connection and meaning. But right now it doesn’t pay me.
And I think about the advice I gave to my school friend in my dream, and I find myself sitting with another question. What if I can get all the things I need from doing what I love?
There is also something about recognition and external validation that I find difficult to acknowledge, but it feels important that I do. I want people to hear my songs. I want them to come see me live. I want to be asked onto podcasts so I can info-dump about music until I am asked to stop. I want to be paid to write for other artists. I want people to stream my album and reach out to tell me how much a lyric helped them through a shitty time. I want to be picked.
And that scares me, because I know all about the pick me parade, and how it can be so tempting to adjust, mould, change, dilute, mask everything about me to increase my chances of being the chosen one. And I’ve never wanted my songwriting to be that. So it has been the precious new toy that its over-protective owner keeps wrapped up safely in the box it came in, so scared it will be broken, damaged, tainted that it never gets taken out, never gets enjoyed, never gets played with.
I think it’s time to take it out of the box.
And so I go back to the parade. But how do I participate without losing myself in the process? I’m not sure I have the answer. Maybe I’ll write a song about it.