Next steps

To start, I would like to acknowledge the fact that to call this the ‘Next steps’ when all the steps and starting places previous to this are unknown to you, is rather obscure. But please, bear with me, as I will now condense my trials and tribulations into, what I hope to be, a rather succinct post…but I have my doubts as to its briefness.

The more challenging twists and turns of life didn’t wrap their coils around me til I’d left university, supposedly waiting in the wings, plotting in parseltongue (gotta love the Harry Potter reference). I’d breezed through being relocated to the Netherlands, cruised through having to look after myself at university, but when the prospect of having to work-to-live reared each of its daunting Cerberusial heads (patent pending), I could but flee my every responsibility; that is to say, I went travelling.

But even then I found lady luck was with me (a story for another time perhaps? “Double or nothing: the road to Airlie”). Employment was easy to come by, and very, very lucrative, and it was during my employment upon the yachts in Australia that the rims of  my rose-tinted glasses became well and truly fused to my brow. Hindsight lacking, I returned to the UK – the Unemployment Kingdom – and sought that dream-role that surely awaited me; me, the creative, prosperous and undeniable graduate. Not so. No other way to say it. Nor will I waste even one flamboyant word on describing it (I fear the word would be truly depressed stuck forever in such a lacklustre role. What a parallel.)

Eventually I found work in what can only be described as the dullest job in history (I eventually resorted to keeping on the headset during breaks, for fear that my brain would actually dribble from each of my ears), but it didn’t last long. Yet, for all of its failings, I could have done with holding on to it for a while longer, “Paid motivation, Adz” as my Dad would say…and does say…frequently.

And so I found myself once again leaping from the water, just begging to be swiped by the clumsy paws of a passing employer. But t’would seem all that our CVs are useful for these days is to attach to wooden poles and wave at the JobcentrePlus in surrender. However, due to an in-built stubbornness, optimism, and stupidity (but mainly, stupidity), I decided to postpone my ‘signing on’, reserving my every effort instead for finding another job.

I travelled to London, and found only unpaid internships that promised little more than deepening debt. I travelled to Bristol (thoroughly helping with said debt), in pursuit of a job with Apple. Many heads nodded, and many voiced the opinion that I had obviously done my research, was adding valuable input, and that they would be in touch with me soon. For all I know, they may all have been true. The latter certainly was. The dismissal was prompt. Succinct. Feedbackless. Demoralising. I truly couldn’t, and can’t, understand what went wrong.

From bad to worse, I did all I could, which was never enough, and I have now relocated in order to live with relatives, far from my friends in Norwich. Two weeks in Cambridge saw me learning the tools of the trade, plumbing to be precise (but more for “shits and giggles” than anything else), and then I hitchhiked with my Grandparents to the land of my roots: Portsmouth. And from here, I write to you today. Humbled, and no longer disillusioned by the naive optimisms that brought me back from across the equator, but I hope soon to find my place in the working world (I sure have family and friends aplenty helping me out on this one!)

The next steps. That’s what now awaits. And it started today with a long-awaited reuniting; my dear Godfather, who I’d been out of contact with for nearly 10 years. I’d got myself a meeting set up with his sister, head of Allen Associates Recruitment, and the city of Oxford awaited me like so many cities had done before. At least now I don’t find myself left wanting;

I’ll take what I get, and run with it.


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