A blog intensifying the flavor of life and toasting those who share in the feast, rather than settling for a dry, plain, melba toast existence.

Sunday, March 12, 2017

it's who you know

"It's not what you know, but who you know that matters," is a phrase that has been proven true more often than not. If I had chosen to live near my hometown and marry a farmer, I could now be re-living my mother's life, wondering if the cherry crop would bring in enough profit to afford some more livestock and new clothes for the family, or if a last minute hail storm would keep everyone in the same pair of boots for another year.

What it meant, owning land, was that we had jobs at an early age right outside our door, or at least down the road. We didn't have to go searching for work with resumes and lists of references. My dad was the boss and if he needed a substitute asparagus picker or someone to help cool the tanks of cherries, he would ask one of us, my sisters and me, to do it. He also had us "fill baggies" and tie the foul-smelling things to the slender trunks of cherry trees to give them a defense against the deer. Milk-testing was another chore done by taking samples of milk as the cows were led into the milking parlor to do their job while we wrote down the necessary information.

For jobs that required strength and size like baling hay, the neighborhood boys would be called upon to become employees. All they had to do was show up, do the work in the way it was supposed to be done, and then show up the next day to do it all again. Proximity and whether one had a reputation for hard work was all that was required. If one wanted a job, there usually was one.

Out in the world, finding work has been much more difficult, and yet, most of the jobs I've had have been given to me by those who know me.

I became a media coordinator for a ministry through a pastor friend who not only got me the job but also gave me a car that had been donated to his ministry, and then helped find a church to provide child care for my two young children, so I could go to an office each morning. Later, when the ministry job had ended and I was sitting in the car picking up my children from the same preschool, the director said I would not need to keep looking for work if I came and worked for her. No resume, no interview, just an open red door that I would continue to walk through for many years.

There is, however, a downside to this system of obtaining employment and it has to do with a change in management. When I returned to the preschool after working at another position I received through someone I knew, I needed to be re-hired, this time by someone who did not know me. All she knew was that there were two groups of women at that school: those whom she considered teachers and those who were not. I was the latter, and once placed there could in no way lift myself up. Didn't matter how much education I had or how much I loved children. Didn't matter that parents and children alike were happy to see me there year after year, handing me their children in love and with respect. I would never be able to be known by that director.

This problem of not being known has always plagued me. Perhaps it is why people never leave their small communities and go out into a world filled with those who will not understand a person even if that person's life experiences are explained in a myriad of ways. When someone recommends one to another, the person doing the hiring does not always see what the person recommending sees. When expectations are not met, the employee becomes vulnerable to criticism not necessarily any fault of his or her own. We all have an idea of who we are looking for and we cannot always communicate to someone else exactly who that is.

After searching diligently for about eight months and probably less diligently for years before that, a friend messaged me with a job for which I could be considered if I would just call her daughter. A couple of days later I was called by the daughter's director and asked why someone as overqualified for an administrative assistant role as I am would want so humble a job considering the degrees I hold and the low rate of pay offered. I explained I needed to make a change, so she invited me in to talk.

The job interview was unlike any job interview I have ever had. We were relaxed with each other from the start, talking like old friends. We shared our hearts about how we were raised Catholic and how those instilled values caused us to believe it was our duty and privilege to reach out to our communities and provide assistance in whatever way we could. We were both drawn to non-profit organizations and loved the idea of helping children who were in need of adoption, and offering hope and healing to couples looking for ways to bring children into their hearts and homes. Our conversation winded its way through the woods to camping and she shared her excited anticipation of a rafting trip. We seemed to have a lot in common, a rare experience for me.

The connection I made with this woman was profound. As I was settling into the idea of working for someone who seemed to actually know me, not the me I show most people but the real neurotic, creative, nerdy, lover of coffee and day-old popcorn me, she mentioned she had finally been offered her dream job and she would be leaving the organization. Momentarily, my heart sunk and I considered a thank-you-but-no-thank-you exit, but then I wondered if this agency really did work as a team, and all got along wonderfully, as she had said. I kept myself from walking out by thinking: How different from this incredible woman could the next director be?

Accepting the position, I went on our planned beach trip feeling ever more anxious that no one had contacted me about my new, grand and glorious position. When I was finally emailed by the interim director, who not only knew nothing about me but did not even know there was a new hire, I thought I would be looking for work as soon as we returned home. Instead I was invited to begin a job a week late which on day one, during my brief orientation, I regretted. The woman sitting across from me could not see me, not the real me anyway. She saw an insecure, middle-aged woman who never managed to have a real career, whom had been let in the backdoor like a stray dog that no one has been heartless enough to put back out on the street. She wanted documented proof that I could do exactly what I had no idea I would be asked to do. When the laptop computer I was given kept dying along with more and more pieces of my heart each day, I realized this director categorized people into two groups: extroverts and those with personalities opposite to hers whom she considered losers. She told me during the worst 90-day job review of my life, 40 days in, that I did not have the "skill-set" (oh, how I loathe that word) for the position and she would recommend my termination to the next director. I would realize later that by giving me a negative review she was denying me the raise promised by the woman who hired me, the woman who trusted the next director to do the right thing. Though her trust was misplaced, mine was not.

Every day for the past six months, I have walked from the parking deck up to my office to sit down at my desk, and wonder if that day would be my last day at this job. Every. Single. Day.

Two months ago, a permanent director was hired by the board and I was given another chance to introduce myself. But it was short-lived as the bogus job review still stands as my only "professional" representation. Doesn't matter that I'm in a position of leadership at my church and have presented liturgical prayers I have written to the congregation. Makes no difference I run my own arts and crafts business in which I sell my artwork to those who find what I create charming and beautiful. It doesn't matter that I have writing, editing, and proofreading skills that could enhance the reports and documentation of any organization, plus the kind of work ethic one develops growing up on a farm and beginning work as a child, working my way through college and graduate school, nearly starving and almost homeless all the while finding ways to survive! No. It is not based on anything real. It is based on the assessment of someone who cannot know me. Whether I will ever be known by the new leadership remains to be seen. Strangely, peace comes in knowing there is nothing left to lose.

If you know me, you know I write this smiling, and shaking my head. You know after I write this, edit it, re-edit it, and perhaps give it one more edit--at least, I may make a pillow, watch a movie, and later have a Guinness to call it a day. I will get up tomorrow morning, try to make it to the gym to work out with a friend who works out early, shower, and drive to work singing. I will walk from the parking deck to my desk, check my emails, get a cup of coffee and welcome whatever it is that will become my day. I will then come home to my faithful dog, get the mail, kiss my husband, feed my son, and wonder briefly about this path I'm on, led by the One who knows me best.


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