Fail Again. Fail Better

So said Samuel Beckett.

I used to have this quote on a greeting card which I pinned up near my desk at home.

It served as a reminder that, as the 1980's philosopher Billy Ocean sang,

When the going gets tough, the tough get going. Oooh Oooh 

Since I escaped from Hell, I mean, left my last job, I have been extremely picky in job hunting. Two or three days a week in the film or literary sector. Nothing with too much responsibility but also with enough stimulation to prevent brain rot. Admittedly there are not many jobs out there which fit my criteria so applications have not exactly been pouring forth from me.

Since June I've had three interviews. The first one was for an arts charity based in Chelsea and Westminster Hospital. The charity's aim is to develop a programme of art events for hospital patients to assist in their recovery. The timing of my interview was ironic. I myself had been in hospital the day prior for a minor procedure involving general anaesthetic. In hindsight I probably should have said No to the interview but as they say, when opportunity knocks....

No surprises that I did not get that job. I think I was speaking English during the interview but your guess is as good as mine.

Following that there were no interesting jobs on the horizon. I started temping to keep one foot wedged in the doorway of work.

Then a deluge (actually, there were two) of part-time film jobs with medium-level responsibility flooded my inbox. I duly answered the same ten boring questions that all employers seem to ask on any job application form. A few weeks later I was asked to interview for jobs at the BFI and IntoFilm.

Well...

What is there to say about the BFI. If you live in the UK and know even a little about film, you will know the BFI. Many years ago, a much younger version of myself applied for a job with them and was rejected. Surely lightning couldn't strike twice.

IntoFilm is a film charity that does excellent working promoting access to and engagement with film right around the UK for youth aged 5-19.

Man, I sweated over the interview preparations.  I knew there would be at least one film question. I asked Facebook friend's to tell me what their favourite British films were. I reread all the film blogs I have written. I looked over my old programming material from my days working at the FTI.  Since I started rearing a child my film consumption has diminished considerably. Gone are the days when I would see up to four films a week in the cinema. Nowadays I get to the cinema maybe once a fortnight.  Which is not bad for the average person but would it be enough for the BFI cineastes'?

It wasn't.

Yesterday the BFI  emailed to say that I did not get the job. It was a kick to the guts as those doors to the BFI have been slammed twice in my face now. Then about ten minutes after that cheerful news came the rejection email from IntoFilm.

Aiiyaiyaiyaiyai!

Did I perform badly in both interviews? Was I over qualified? Am I too old for the entry level positions I am applying for? Or were the interviews just a performative time wasting process for all. Was someone already lined up for the role?

Or am I just a sore loser?

On request, the BFI gave me interview feedback. They said I was a strong candidate amongst ten strong candidates. Supposedly I was one of the strongest candidate's but someone stronger got the role. The feedback made me feel like I had lost an arm wrestle with an octopus.

Failure is a very different thing at 42 than at 22. In your twenties the horizon seems endless; possibilities infinite. If you fail at 22, you wait for the next opportunity you assume is coming. At 42, failure fucking sucks. Time and energy is not on your side. You hope you are still alive when the next opportunity comes; if it comes at all. At 42, you realise not everything works out the way you thought it would.

Let me in you fuckers!

Mr Beckett urges greater failure. Greater effort. No matter the failure, Just work towards the next one. Eventually you will get there he implies.

Would you trust this man's advice?

Is there sense to bashing one's head against a brick wall a la Beckett style? In this case the impenetrable doors of the BFI?

We'll see. Watch this space.

Over and Out

About four years ago, I wrote about a blog post about re-entry into the paid workforce after having had a baby. I did not foresee that the beginning of a part-time working life  (plus baby, plus Masters degree) would mean the end of blogging.

I don't know why I did not see this. Even a blind person would have seen it.

It was a busy four years. I met some truly wonderful people in my workplace. My boss was tops. I went to work beaming most days. Happy and full of bad jokes which I shared with anyone around me.

Then disaster struck! Nine months ago, the project I had been developing with my boss was suspended indefinitely. I had nothing to do. Left with little choice, I applied for an internal vacancy which on paper looked like a great challenge. More responsibility. More money. More days.

When they offered it to me, I felt uneasily relieved. I wasn't happy about spending less time with Dragon but I did welcome a new challenge. It was a trade-off.

A great deal is made of intuition by holistic practitioners and Psychologies magazine.

Follow your gut, they say. Or is it,  Listen to your gut. ?

Regardless, the true answer to all life's mysteries is to be found within your abdomen

During the handover for my new role, my stomach had a lot to say. The primary message seemed to be:

GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!

Did I listen?  Did I follow?

No. I did jackshit and instead adopted a Protestant work ethic facade hoping that my stomach was wrong.  That I was just imagining that the new job did not resemble in the slightest what I had hoped it would be.

An oldie, but a goodie

Six months later, I quit.

It wasn't all for nothing. Being in a soul sucking, toxic workplace highlighted to me what I wanted to do. I started writing a book to keep myself sane. And I started writing here again. And many more places. I just started to write.

It was the only way to get my stomach to shut up.

Toil & Trouble

I am quite a reactive sort and I am often cursing under my breath at all manner of things. The weather. Bad food. People talking loudly on mobiles. Customer service. This is fairly normal behaviour I think, for city dweller in the 21st century. We all mutter daily under bated breath. It’s normal. Isn’t it?

A situation at work recently brought on one of these muttering attacks. A familiar scenario where someone is paid a lot of money while you do all the work for them. I vented my spleen at my inanimate PC screen in a passive aggressive manner. My colleague who was also pissed off had another approach.

Mmmm. Death or flu. Death or flu, she muttered to herself.

I thought she was asking me a question.

I’m sorry? I replied.

No no, I’m just deciding which one. Probably flu. A bad one, she continued, still half –talking to herself.

Give who flu?

Oh, I just have a death or flu policy for a few people, she continued blithely. Just the one’s who push me too far.

By now my anger had been replaced by laughter.

Just the two. What about chicken pox? I choked out.

No. Just death or flu.

And with that, she returned to work to continue her double, double, toil and trouble.

Leaving Words...

I'm about to leave my current job and have been thinking about what to say at my leaving drinks.

Then I saw this on the web:


Could be a very short speech....

The End of the Line

How do you know when is enough is enough? How do you know when it is time to end a relationship or start a new one? Quit your job. Pack up and move to another house, another city, another world? What are the signs?

Some might say that it is not about signs, but about choices. That we make our decisions based on the information we have.

The information we have.

What is this but signs?

I have made a big decision. Actually the decision was made long ago but it is only now that it has forced it's way to the surface of my life. It's a big leap off a high cliff but never mind. I like to do that every now and again.

The signposts that have been pointing the way to this crossroads have been getting bigger and more glaring of late:

A gift of white flowers
The concern on my husband's face
The vision of my friends being held in a box to be unpacked in winter
The big "A". Addiction and dependency
The acute sense of physical revulsion that strikes
The unhappy faces of the bright and loving people in the same situation as me
The feeling that something inside has snapped.

The biggest sign of all was a two hour pep talk given to me by someone who wants me to make a different decision to the one I have made. She does not know of my decision yet as I have not told her. But something inside her knows as she spent two hours bolstering me up. She challenged me to be strong and face the difficulties. To detach myself emotionally from situations so I can get what I want. To be crafty, clever and strategic. She lectured me about maturity. That I have to force myself to do things I don't want to for the bigger picture. To disassociate myself from all the negativity, rise above it and live to fight another day.

By the end of the talk, I felt as if I was about to go into battle. Fight a war. And then I remembered that abridged quote by Sun Tzu who wrote The Art of War:

Choose your battles wisely

and

He who knows when he can fight and when he cannot, will be victorious.[sic]

Instantaneously, the two hour working over I'd had dissipated in the face of the simple truth that I did not want to fight her battles for her anymore.

Wisdom comes with age they say. I don't agree. Some people older than me are the daftest people I know. They have closed themselves off and are locked into a quagmire of their own making. They have stopped paying attention to the signs around them. They think they have already learned all the lessons they ever need to.

What arrogance. What fear.

Wish me luck as I jump off this particular cliff. I'll let you know what I find when I land.

Climb Every Mountain?

In my work life I am surrounded by successful career women. Women who have clawed their way up to the top of the arts' professions. Women whom I never once thought I would have the opportunity to meet. Once upon a time I would have considered many of these people to be role models. I would have considered myself lucky to have landed any one of their jobs.

But not anymore.

I am lucky. I am lucky that my current job has allowed me to meet and work with these women. To see that up close, all that glitters is not always gold.

These women will have had made significant personal sacrifices to get where they are. I know they all work hard and have persevered for years against constant obstacles. I know that they have beat off hundreds, even thousands of competitors to survive in their chosen environment. Up close they do not seem particularly hardened but they are as tough they come.

Knowing this makes me feel distinctly uneasy. Why?

Because I don't want to get to where they are and have become like that. But to get to where they are, I don't think there is a choice. The arts world in London (and everywhere else) is dirty and grasping. As soon as you get a known profile, the knives come out. You have to get your hands filthy to survive and the higher up you are, the grottier they potentially get.

When I was little, my mother, to warn me off a career in politics used to say:

All politcians are corrupt. Even if they start off with good intentions, to stay and succeed in the game, they have to become crooked. A good politician is a contradiction in terms.

So where does that leave me?

With clean hands but no career? Or with a potential career but at what cost?

Nail the Bastards!

My mate Jerome is having a hard time with his employers. They are diddling him around a treat and after a long and ranty phone conversation, we decided that he would launch a one man campaign against them. We decided to call this the Nail the Bastards! campaign.

You might want to know who these employers are who have elicited such eloquent ferocity? Well I can't say specifically but what I can say is that Jerome works as a public servant. I am very biased when it comes to the public sector. I don't have a high opinion of it having toiled for a local council for two years. I have a strong opinion and that opinion is that it is bad. My opinion is that if you must work within the public sector- get in, get skilled up, get out.

So although I was sorry to hear of Jerome's troubles, I was not at all surprised that he was having them given who his employers are. Still, I was livid for him and determined that he didn't take it lying down:

You gotta be focused and get what you want, I lectured. Don't take no for an answer. This is a battle and you have to be prepared to fight. Listen to me - are you prepared to fight. You can't let them get away with this. You are a one-man campaign you understand? This is a war that you are going to win. Are you listening? This is WAR.

By this time Jerome had been listening to my ranting for well over an hour but still he complied:

I'm going to nail the bastards.

And hence, the revolution is on.

Yes Prime Minister

Last week I went to the Houses of Parliament for a work launch. I'd never been inside the actual buildings before and so approached the expedition with a touristic avaracity. Everything seemed so interesting, right down to the thorough security screen at the entrance and all the pollies rushing past me looking intense and harassed. I was in heaven. My West Wing fantasy come to life in a Yes Prime Minister kind of way.

My boss who was with me sauntered around the place as if she was born to be there. I half expected her to start waving to people, calling out things like:

Hey Bob, where's that policy paper we went over yesterday? I want it on my desk in an hour!

Instead she casually mentioned:

This is where we might be doing a show next year. It's your project.

Parliamentary copyright images are reproduced with the permission of Parliament

Gulp.

I looked at the space we were in. The walls of Westminster Hall were erected in 1097. When you walk through this grave and stately building, you can feel the air particles resonate with the combined history of every single one of those years.

A show. Here?

How on earth can we do this building justice?

Time to get working.

Bob - where's my paper?

Ever Eventful

It always bemuses me when the events industry is glamourised. Twelve years ago, I accidentally fell into coordinating my first paid event. It was a two day conference for two hundred delegates. The woman who was supposed to be in charge was having nervous breakdown because her husband had just left her. She asked around her friends to see if they knew of anyone that could help her out. Somehow my name came up in the conversation and upon meeting me briefly, she said:

"You'll do,"

and that was that. Unbeknownst to me at the time, it was the start of a career path.

It turned out that managing events is something that I could just do. It just came naturally. I didn't go and study an events or production course like many people choose to do these days. In fact, I think these courses are bollocks. You need to learn on the job. Does that make me old school? Maybe. I am in my mid 30's and in the events industry that's veering on ancient.

In all the time I've worked in events, I have failed to see what it is that could be percieved as glamorous. Rubbing shoulders with celebrities? Partaking of the free booze and food? Let me tell you - if you are doing these things when working at an event, you're clearly not doing your job properly

The truth is that there is no glamour. When you are managing an event, you have the following:

Stress - lots of it
Tight, shifting deadlines
Long, unsociable hours
Not enough money
Unwieldy artists/celebrities
Pain-in-the-ass agents
Hardened, drug fucked crew (not always but it's common)
Lots of complaints from everyone
Too much adrenaline
Payment problems
Being told how you could do things better by people who don't know what they're talking about
Typos in the publicity/marketing
Thanklessness

Should I go on?

I am in this frame of mind because (if you couldn't already tell), I am sick of mananaging events. All sorts - tours, performances, festivals, workshops, conferences, talks. Everything. I've learned alot about the industry during my time within it but nothing in that time has really caught my imagination. I don't want to be fuelled by adrenaline anymore. I also feel guilty that I never had to struggle too much for it. Like I said, it all came natural.

Maybe this is not the end but only a bit of a work whinge?

Time, as ever, will tell.

My Mentor

My boss is a fascinating woman. To try and describe her in a few sentences is a grave injustice but nonetheless, its my perogative on this blog of mine. I find her endlessly inspiring and very human. She wears her many flaws on her sleeve yet maintains her dignity. She's annoying, quixotic, funny, charismatic, rebellious, fierce and very very bright. She feels like family although I have only known her for a short while. I'm not alone in my evaluation. She is a public person and everyday I see many, many people flock around her like bees to a honeypot. She is both loved and hated in equal measures but always respected.

At some point in my work life, I figured that I needed a role model. A mentor. A guide. I wanted this because I sensed that it was an important part of my development. I wanted someone who would challenge me and push my buttons. I wanted someone truly brave. I needed this. I craved it.

I had hoped to find someone like this in my years of study. An inspirational lecturer or tutor but everyone came up short. I worked job after job but all my managers and bosses blurred into one another. Some were nice but no-one was special. I held out on a lot of people who were sort-of right. I wasn't interested in sort-of.

It was depressing how long it took me to find an inspirational female role model. Or maybe just one that was right for me.

Now that I have found her, I feel glad and lucky. But I also feel that I deserve it. I worked and waited a long time. But I guess these things in life only happen when it's right.

Return To Sender

Being a veteran job hunter, I have spent a good portion of my life going through the mill of job hunting. The scouring through the job pages. Drafting and writing the job application. Answering lots and lots of mundane questions such as:

Are you a good team player?
Do you have excellent interpersonal skills?
Can you pay attention to detail?

Why is it that all the jobs I apply for ask the same ten questions? Has no-one updated the template in the last 100 years?

Let’s face it. Job hunting is a pain in the ass. Literally. A good application can take me up to five hours to do which means a lot of bum-on-seat time.

The other thing I hate about job hunting is when companies won’t accept your CV. Instead they ask you to re-type your whole job history on their application form. Why is this necessary? It’s a waste of time. Companies who ask you to do this are either

a) Really backward and inefficient
b) Manipulative and game playing
c) Sadists

As much as I complain about job hunting, I still do it. What choice do I have? A girl’s gotta eat and I’ve never been much good at the whole networking-let–me-introduce-you-to-this-person way of finding work. I’ve always done it the hard way which is to apply for jobs cold and hope that my experience talks me into an interview.

It’s great when you get asked for an interview. You have a chance and the five hours of writing about your interpersonal skills suddenly seems less painful.

The worst is when you don’t hear back. A lot of companies now state that they will only get in touch with you if you’ve been shortlisted.

This sucks.

Let me get this straight. You work your ass off, writing reams and reams of reasons why you are the world’s best team player. You re-type your whole CV on THEIR application form. Your ass gets numb and your shoulders ache. You ring your ex boss and suck up so that you’ll get a decent reference. You check and re-check your application. You send it off to them before the deadline.

And nothing. Not even a one line email to say, Thanks but no thanks.

Everything is supposed to be easier and quicker now that we have online technology. How hard is it for a company to send a group email to all their rejected candidates?

Why are the fuckers so lazy? And rude.

I don’t buy for one second that this is about saving time. It takes five minutes to send a group email.

Dear Employers of the World,

Pull your finger out and press SEND.

Yours Faithfully,

Lavendar Lee