Post-uni, Iain Banks, Italy, Scotland, and new beginnings.
While I don't claim to be among the hard-core long-term-unemployed - about which I feel slightly humble - having had five interviews in Rutland, Hemel Hempstead, Leatherhead, High Wycombe, and Wellington, plus an assessment in Manchester, and three auditions in Liverpool last week, I don't think I could exactly be accused of "not trying" when it comes to being a job-seeker.
For those of you who have recently graduated, finished school, or left their previous job for one reason or another, you will (probably) understand the frustrations that I and countless others are experiencing with regard to employment, or lack thereof. However, by putting virtual pen to virtual paper by means of blogging, Goodreads, the beginnings of several 'novels', and generally recording "just thoughts, really", I like to think that I know how to make the best of a bad(ish) situation.
Having finished University a matter of weeks ago, had my holidays in Italy and Edinburgh, and been left with no current plans for the immediate future, all of this new-found free time has indeed opened some doors in some rather unexpected places. As most of you who follow this blog will know, my principal ambition is - and pretty much always has been - acting and performance of various kinds. However, following the recent death of my beloved Iain Banks (The Crow Road, The Steep Approach to Garbadale), my attention has been drawn away from the stage and towards the page. When I heard of Mr Banks's illness, I soon picked up Complicity, his deeply dark thriller about journalism, murder, S&M, and drug abuse. To my delight, I accidentally stumbled upon a couple of the book's iconic settings when I visited Edinburgh a couple of weeks ago. Anyway, once I'd finished this - the first, I must admit, in a rather dry spell reading-wise - I was hungry for more Banks and literature in general. I took Stonemouth (the last book to be published before Banks's death) to Italy with me. Much more light-hearted than Complicity, the main female character was called Ellie, and call me sad, sentimental, twee, silly, or any number of things, but I couldn't help feeling a pang of emotion and satisfaction at this slight nod to me and my namesakes as part of one of his final novels.
So, to return to my original point, I was once again spellbound by the words of one of my favourite men; my attention was very much devoted to fiction and the things it can achieve. This reminded me of the makings of a story I'd started a few months before, as a way of relieving exam stress at random intervals. So, when my feet touched English soil once again, I returned to my A4 notepad, opened the file I'd given a working title based on the characters I'd previously invented, and decided to see what happened. I was instantly reminded of the refreshing, productive feeling that simply exploring your ideas can provide; I don't claim that anything I write is ground-breaking, or even particularly interesting, but it's a start, and it's better than sitting around dwelling on what you're not or could be doing. Would this have happened had I gotten the summer job I'd applied for? Probably not. Would I have even enjoyed that job? I doubt it. For once, I'm fully appreciating the joy of reading and creating for the sake of it; not because it's part of my degree, and certainly not because I'm getting paid for it.
There are certainly days - today being a prime example - when finding a job (any job) and moving out as soon as I can feel like the be all and end all, and when I'm convinced that nobody wants me, nobody will ever want me, and that I may as well give up now. I'm sure many of you know where I'm coming from. I couldn't have been in a worse mood this afternoon than when I stomped home - tears quite obviously in my eyes - slumped down at my desk, and started to scour every temp agency in the city. Taking a step back, however, by wandering into the garden and spending some time with my family and my dog in the sunshine, made me think twice. There's not just one thing that I can do, and there isn't just one option for me. As a wonderful friend of mine suggested the other day, I could be a professional dog-sitter if I really wanted to (I really do love dogs; it wasn't a bad idea); I could write my own play, recruit a small company of actors, and start touring in a few months; I could plague every newspaper in the country with articles and reviews I've written and *maybe* convince them to let me make the coffee three times a week. There's always a plan B.
To summarise, basically, I think many of us are despairing at the lack of employment, opportunities, and general comfortable living in the current climate; but sometimes, all it takes is a bit of breathing space to realise that all is not lost. These days, I spend my time reading whatever I can get my hands on, recording my thoughts, writing letters, spending time with loved ones, and exploring new options as often as possible. Unemployment is a bitch, but at least it gives us time that we wouldn't otherwise have. It's how you use that time that counts; who knows - maybe one of us will stumble upon something amazing when we're least expecting it.
