Your Day Job Might Be Training for the Dream
I never believed college would be a magical ticket
to better pay and respect. I did believe I would get through it with my personality
and mind intact. Oh, the naivety of youth!
I went to college because I didn’t know what else
my next step would be. High school has a way of pushing you forward while just float
there, and when you finally get dumped into the sea, the opportunities leading
off in any direction, you might suddenly realize you weren’t actually taught to
swim or how to navigate.
But I hear echoes of the millennial philosophy,
one filled with either criticism or complaints. Many people my age were told
that college would lead to bigger and better jobs, and that you would end up
working at a gas station if you chose a different path. This is attitude I’ve
witness multiple times, either via the regret of those who pay the big bucks to
take the most traveled path leading nowhere, or the disdain of our older
generation attacking that sense of entitlement. My college boyfriend once said
to me, point blank, that he would not take entry-level jobs or work for low pay
if he had a college degree. The degree was to give him a leg up and have him
skip the grunt work. He was a theatre major with no work experience and
remained unemployed for the following two years, save for the volunteer work he
did at a theatre. To this day, almost a decade after he graduated, he still
lives at home and seeks out a masters.
Recently, I found a friend in a similar position,
graduating after a good period of time, to find the workforce abhorrent. Having
lived off a full ride scholarship since high school, her first foray into
retail ended explosively. She now tells me she won’t get a job outside her artistic
field and is supported by her boyfriend’s parents.
When I first graduated during the height of the
recession, I felt completely lost. I had believed that the answers would just
come to me—most people told stories of finding their career by accident—and yet,
there I was in Los Angeles, unable to get a basic retail job. I struggled to
determine since high school if I should focus my efforts and education on a “career”
day job, or if I should just keep myself afloat, giving as much energy as I could
to my real work. For months I
wallowed in stagnancy, until finally I moved back home, found a job with a
theatre company and started to work my ass off for what probably accumulated
into two bucks an hour.
Since graduation, I've worked for theatre groups,
a fabric store, a dog walking company, extracurricular education, a restaurant,
a bar, a coffee shop, and a gift store. I took jobs as they came, moving all
across the country and the world as I tried to figure what I wanted in life.
In 2016, I was living with my then-boyfriend in
his home country. I couldn’t work yet, still on a visitor’s visa, deciding if I
would commit to him and moving to Australia—halfway around the world. The things
I had waited for for so long—a husband, a dog, having a permanent place to
live, and a space of my own—were right in my grasp. But it had been so hard to
get there and not really worth it. At all. He was the wrong guy, and the
country, while beautiful, had restrictions that penalized me as a writer. I
talk to many artists in Perth, and they all admitted that those who took it
seriously would move to the U.S. or Britain. Even their own bookstores were filled
with American works with only a few “hometown heroes” being praised in a sort
of, “Good for you!” kind of way.
All the sudden, my life took a turn. Once the
relationship ended astride my visa, I strove to do all the things moving to Australia
would mean. I lived in NYC, started submitting my book to American agents, and
experienced a year of the quintessential starving artist.
But I didn’t want that either.
I found myself stressed and constantly
concerned with money. My roommate was batshit crazy, checking my lightbulbs
when I left for work and abruptly stopping her phone call to shout at me there
was literally a singular hair in the tub.
So back to Wyoming came I, determined to focus
on my writing as my real job. For the first time, I made a decision. Writing
was my career, and I’d take only work that didn’t subtract from it. Go to work and
leave it there. No mental labor or decision making, little personal investment
in the outcome. A job in which I had to take charge and worry about drastically
subtracted from my ability to do so for my books. You only have so much to give.
Part of my work now focuses on marketing. I’m
expected to create “personas” of my target readers—fictional people based off
the sort of audience I’m aiming for. It also reminds me of how much salesmanship
and presentation is relevant to being successful, and how easy it is as a
writer to avoid talking to people all together.
I often felt like day jobs got in the way of
really pursuing and having time for my real
work, but there’s a lot of basic training that a writer needs if she wants
to make a living, or even just be read by people who she hasn’t met. Or even
those she has. These skills are not naturally learned during the actual writing
process, but are quickly taught when you have to work for someone.
-How to talk to people, including negotiating
with those who have financial leverage over you, or unsatisfied readers.
-That complaints about pricing aren’t always indicative
of being “too expensive.” It’s common and not always intuitive. (People tend to
complain more the cheaper your product is.)
-How not to
approach a sale - a store or a manager you hope to sell your product to.
Negativity is always off putting, and no matter how friendly or chatty you are
with the employees, you must talk to
the manager to get results.
-Just how important location is to selling
something well. Both the shop itself, but its position in the shop.
-How much more effective a personal, one on one
sale is to lambasting the public.
By playing “games” to see how good of a
salesperson I could be, whether that means which words to use or how to
reorganize the store, I got the opportunity for trial and error without a lot
of risk on my part. Since I don’t care if the product is actually purchased, I
don’t feel bad when the customer turns me down, but learn about why they did
and have ideas on what to try next time. And there will be a natural next time
without needing to put myself out there. Because I’ve worked along side a
variety of people, seen hiring practices, had to deal with inventory and
restrictions, I’m much further along in terms of having a head for business,
how to work with people, red flags of bad hires, and how to present my work in
a professional, trustworthy way.
Yesterday, I somehow got myself roped into the planning
of a fundraiser non-related to anything I’ve been trying to save my focus for. As
I scanned down the list of options for me to take the reins on, I felt a sickness
in my stomach. So much work. So much stepping out of my comfort zone! But there
was an obvious choice on there: Marketing. No one wanted to do it. I’m trying
to learn it. I have other members of the committee with experience and ideas
who can give me a good head where to start, and it’s a great place to begin my
trial and error without having my name directly attached to any missteps. As I
reframed the sudden responsibility in that light, I went from dread to excitement.
Learning is a part of a process, and it’s better to have a safety net and other
people to help you than to try and figure it out all by yourself when
everything’s on the line.
You may hate your job or feel like it’s a waste
of time. Maybe you don’t want one at all unless it’s directly taking your career
forward. But you never know how it might help you with necessary lessons you
never would have thought about writing by yourself in the corner of your house
with fictional people backing you up. Sometimes, you have to get out into the
world and test things outside of a vacuum, and a day job you’re not super
invested in can be just the place.
If you liked this post, want to support, contact, stalk, or argue with me, please consider...
Liking Charley Daveler on Facebook
Following What's Worse than Was
