Seed: What Color Is Your Friggin' Parachute?
It's hard to imagine in light of society's current preoccupation with job satisfaction, but there once was a time when the word 'career' had yet to reach the mouths of those long forgotten windbags careless enough to speak it. Neanderthals, who seem to be getting smarter by the week, had little concern for such high falutin' verbiage. After all, you were lucky to reach puberty back in those days, so it stands to reason that finding a purpose beyond procreation and hunting/gathering would have held little intrinsic value. And it might have stayed that way too, if it weren't for those meddling Homo sapiens. Cut to a few years later, and suddenly every rube with a broom in hand is plying a trade of some sort. But the concept of careers as we know it today, seems to have been yet another touchy-feely Baby Boomer invention, which surprise surprise, has irrevocably set up future generations for a lifetime's worth of lingering resentment.
All this to say, by way of lengthy introduction, I am currently unemployed. I have only been unemployed for six days, but it might as well have been an eon. I'm starting to feel like that no good third cousin that every family talks about in disparaging terms. You know the one. Watches Judge Judy religiously. Always has a stain on his shirt. Talks about his previous job like he just clocked out, even though the last time he drew a paycheck, Lorenzo Lamas was a household name. I hope this is the kind of bugbear that will not overstay its' welcome, but statistics seem to indicate otherwise. Recent polling provided by newsfromrussia.com suggests that the average length of unemployment has climbed to 18.4 неделя. That's 18.4 weeks for all you non-Ruble heads. In other words, I could be in for a long haul.
As much as I would like to pretend otherwise (and often do), the problem isn't really the recent economic downturn or the job market vacuum. It's me. I have absolutely no idea what vocation I would like to pursue. You would think twenty-seven years into the game, I could have mapped out a career path that doesn't look like a four-year old with ADHD spray-painted it on the sidewalk. Sadly, I've awakened to the realization that this just isn't the case. I have been asked, "What kind of job are you looking for," so many times, it's as if the very question has cemented itself to the wax-covered labyrinths doctors graciously refer to as my eardrums. I want to respond with confidence, but instead I just shrug my shoulders and manage a polite "Meh."
My father, like any respectable pater familias, has expressed a desire for me to follow in his petroleum soaked footsteps. I remain cautious. And it's not because I've fallen in with the whole "oil is the root of all evil" crowd. In fact, oilmen have historically been some of the most interesting people to ever hornswoggle Mother Earth out of her natural resources. Hell, if insatiable entrepreneurs like E.W. Marland and Waite Phillips never existed, Oklahoma would have been ceded to anarchists long ago. That's right Istook. I said it. Anarchists. But thankfully, we were spared that indignity. No, I'm leery of the Texas Tea trade for another kind of reason. To be specific, several of my former acquaintances have recently joined ranks with the likes of Boone Pickens and his many minions. Rarely a day goes by without my old man emailing me the name of yet another friend who is hocking his or her services in hope of landing a job in the oil and gas industry.
Reading those forwarded emails, I feel a strange mix of embarrassment and failure. Embarrassment because I empathize with their desperate search for gainful employment, and failure because it seems my generation has learned nothing from the trials and tribulations of the Ewing Family. Do these people honestly not remember the 80s? C'mon folks, you know...A Flock of Seagulls, legwarmers, the OIL BUST. I still remember my parent's speaking in hushed tones about the bust as if it was the Holocaust or something. I'd like to think in the year 2008 we would know the ultimate fate of the oil business is inevitable. Pack it in. Game over. Good job team, but it's time to go home. Here's a gold watch for your trouble. But no, there are still a few well-meaning but misguided individuals, clinging to the hope that our energy dilemmas will be solved by a modern-day Jed Clampett. Don't get me wrong; there's still a little of the black stuff left, but it seems like people my age would want something a bit more reliable.
So I'm left to ponder a mind-numbing array of vocational opportunities, none of which I might add, scream out, "Pick me! Pick me!" I'd probably have better luck just drawing a trade out of a hat. It worked for Dr. Phil, right? One benefit of being unemployed is that I've learned to trick myself into believing certain jobs are a plausible fit. That's what those career aptitude tests will do to you. I think to myself, "I like the outdoors. I'm a good rule follower. I prefer to work alone. Why, I could be a game warden." But in the light of day, these career models are just another exercise in futility. And now, unemployables like myself have to deal with the added pressure of this 'career' nonsense. You can't just have a job anymore. No, you have to find something fulfilling and life-affirming. Sure there are people resisting this on a daily basis, but they don't get to enjoy the smug self-satisfaction that comes with finding your true calling in life. And if I desire anything in life, it's smug self-satisfaction.
Friends, what say you on all things career related? Oh, and it's good to be back. I missed this.
posted by A Contemporary Bunkshooter @ 8:55 PM,
1 Comments:
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At Wednesday, October 29, 2008 9:43:00 AM,
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Well can I just say that those in your former profession really miss you and no matter what you do there is no real satisfaction in life, so quit looking, it is a waste of time.
Yes, it's all about the money, so jump in and milk that oil industry for all its worth,you'll make your Dad so proud.
