Master of My Own Universe

To the outside world, my greatest accomplishment of the year has been receiving my Masters Degree. To them, I should be rejoicing, blasting the information to the entire world, wearing a photocopy of the sacred paper as a badge that renders me a “force with which to be reckoned.” Why? My mother’s answer: it is an accomplishment that you should be proud of, Ashlee—not many people can do that straight out of undergrad and in such a short amount of time. And for a time, I believed that. I, too, thought that what I had accomplished was something of a feat. Until, the graduation cap came off and the real world, the one that doesn’t share my mother’s high hopes for me, dumped on me. It started with the Interview from Hell. Since I’m a classy b-word, I won’t use any real names, except my own on my blog posts, but I’m sure classiness will undoubtedly be removed with prolonged unemployment and a growing disdain for life. But I digress…

So the Interview from Hell was for a non-profit organization that needed someone with basically all of my background, enthusiasm and intellect. So I knew I was a shoe-in. After successfully completing both writing and typing tests, I went in to interview with the head of Human Resources. We hit it off well. She almost guaranteed me the job. When she stepped out of the conference room that we were in, I felt comfortable and watched as the weight of the world fell from my shoulders into a little pile on the floor. It felt good. When she returned, she excitedly told me that the organization’s founder and president was in the office, and that she, the head of Human Resources, was dying for me to meet her. She thought we would get along because we both “came from similar backgrounds,” meaning she, too, was a black woman, who had a background in studies of the Harlem Renaissance, had a mother that was an elementary school teacher, and found solace in reading and recording other people’s histories. Ushering me back to the waiting area, she assured me that the founder would love me.

Suffice it to say, she didn’t.

For her, my choice to go to Grad School directly after undergrad was a poor decision that robbed me of “life experience” and, therefore, I “couldn’t possibly know myself.” She harped on that point for about ten minutes, and then outright refused to cave into my suggested salary of $30,000-40,000. Instead, she said she would be willing to give me $20,000 because I was too young and inexperienced to render me worthy of that salary. I guess now would be the perfect time to insert what exactly my job would have been. I would have been an in-house scholar, who researched and wrote about extraordinary African-American contemporaries, and I also would have taught African-American History courses once every quarter. Despite my teaching experience and heavy background in American and Ethnic History and Literature, the founder felt that I was not a good fit. She instructed me that I don’t use my Ivy League education (which I mentioned only once when I was talking about my educational background) and pretty face (which I didn’t even mention at all) to get ahead. Then I was dismissed.

I didn’t get the job. I didn’t get a call back.

The summer waged on and I saw no more interviews as I continued to fill out job applications while working at my summer job. When my job ended at the beginning of September, the burden of lack of employment became heavier. And with every rejection email that called me a “strong candidate, but overqualified” or an “interesting candidate, but unfortunately we have decided to pursue other applicants,” I felt more and more like…a loser. And my hope and faith thinned. I felt lost. Embarrassment and shame kept me from telling anyone how I felt so I hid my pain behind smiles and laughs.

But then my friend chose to die because her hope and faith became obsolete. My heart ached (and continues to do so) from her sudden death and I mourned deeply. But I refused to accept her same fate. In the midst of her eulogy, I made a decision: I would live my wildest dreams. Passion would drive me. I would be the writer and Supreme Court Justice that I’d always dreamt of being. I bought an LSAT book, told my best friend at Stanford Law my plan (who had always thought I would go to Law School with her), talked to my fantastic girlfriends about blogging, and I felt my train start rolling. I finally had some direction.

I still apply to jobs though. I still get rejections. My heart still sinks with every pass-up. And I do still cry from fear of the unknown and the sheer unfairness of the economy. But I have hope. On some days. And I think that’s what’s most important, that you find a sliver of hope in success, tragedy or even the Interview from Hell.