The highlight of my college years was the a cappella group I was a part of during my four (and a half) years there. I've loved singing since I can remember, and being a part of a group singing in tight harmony is one of the best feelings in the world. Since I graduated from college, I've been feeling a sense of loss. Having a creative outlet like a cappella was something that made me happy. Even when I was at my lowest, I looked forward to rehearsals, when I could just sing and make music and know that I was good at something. I've been watching the new show Glee obsessively, getting nostalgic for the singing groups I was a member of starting in fourth grade. I miss it so much.
Luckily, a few weeks ago, at a cousin's wedding, I happened to meet a guy from the Boston area who is in an a cappella group. We got talking about singing and arranging songs, and how much fun it is to be a part of a group, and then and there, without ever hearing me sing, he offered me an audition for his group. I was beyond excited at the prospect of singing a cappella again, but didn't really expect this random guy I met at a wedding to follow through.
But what do you know, a few days later I got an email from the leader of the group inviting me to come to one of their rehearsals and audition. I went into Boston two weeks ago (getting a bit lost on the way there), and sang for them and with them and just being able to sing with a group, even if it was only for a few minutes...I felt whole. I was really nervous and didn't sing my best, but I did what I could and went home with my fingers crossed.
Two days later I recieved an email telling me that I'd received a callback, and last night I went back into Boston (getting lost again) to sing with them for a second time. I was less nervous this time, and I think I did well, but you never know. Now I'm just waiting to hear back from them, checking my email every few minutes obsessively.
I really hope I get in. Singing is my favorite thing to do in the entire world, and I feel like it's important to have it be a part of my life, even if everything else is a little crazy. If I don't get in, God forbid, then I think my next step will be to look for another singing group in the area. It's too important to me to let go.
Wish me luck!
~Fae
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Relaunch: Failure
Failure. Now there’s a word that’s a slam to the gut. No matter what the circumstances are, failure claws at your self-esteem, and it hurts. It’s about feeling less-than. It’s about having your sense of worth compromised in a huge way. And it’s also about worrying that you’ve dropped down a peg or two in the eyes of the people who believe in you, no matter how sympathetic they are.
Failure is not something I’ve had a lot of experience with, and for that, I’m incredibly grateful. When I worked fulltime in radio, I felt valued and respected and wanted for the job I did and the person I was. When the babies were born and I had to cut back my hours, it was made known to me that I had a fulltime job waiting for me whenever I wanted to come back, and they wished it would be soon. That was the opposite of failure. And it felt good.
But that was also twenty-three years ago. About a year ago, when I decided I wanted to make the leap from free-spirited freelancer to fulltime employee (with benefits and everything) for the first time in nearly a quarter-century, those jobs were obviously not still waiting for me.
So I found something completely different. Just about ten months ago, I hooked up with a medical company in the corporate sector. The job involved voice-over work and writing, so at first glance, it seemed like the perfect fit. I figured I could handle the hour commute each way, and actually looked forward to the structure of a nine-to-five life. They hired me as a contract worker for a three-month trial period to start, making more money than I’d ever seen before in any job, ever. It was an exciting time.
Well, for a little while. It didn't take long to realize this company was a horrible fit for me. I was not cut out for the mind-numbing hours, the negative management style, the technological challenges, the nearly non-existent training, and the fact that I ended up not doing what I was hired for. It almost seemed I was being primed to fail. To sum up, I lasted only two months. I wish I could say I got fed up and stormed out of that dysfunctional situation with my head high and my pride intact, but that’s not what happened. Even though I was miserable and cried almost every night on my way home from work, I was too damn stubborn to give up. I ended up getting blind-sided in the HR office, my supervisor too much of a coward even to be present, and was told—very kindly and sympathetically, I might add—that I was no longer an employee. And so I went to my desk, gathered my things, said goodbye to my co-workers and tried not to blubber. In short, it was humiliating.
A friend told me recently that failure is simply the manifestation of being in the wrong place, and that makes perfect sense to me. I did not belong in that company. But the fact remains that I worked hard, and couldn’t make it work. I failed. I was a failure.
But if failure is being in the wrong place, then success is being in the right place, and I’m hot on its trail. Most days, I’m happy to report that I set out with optimism, reminding myself of all the skills I possess, all the possibilities I know in front of me. And most days I can quiet the new, mean voice in the back of my head that whispers, and you might fail at this, too.
Most days.
-Callie
Failure is not something I’ve had a lot of experience with, and for that, I’m incredibly grateful. When I worked fulltime in radio, I felt valued and respected and wanted for the job I did and the person I was. When the babies were born and I had to cut back my hours, it was made known to me that I had a fulltime job waiting for me whenever I wanted to come back, and they wished it would be soon. That was the opposite of failure. And it felt good.
But that was also twenty-three years ago. About a year ago, when I decided I wanted to make the leap from free-spirited freelancer to fulltime employee (with benefits and everything) for the first time in nearly a quarter-century, those jobs were obviously not still waiting for me.
So I found something completely different. Just about ten months ago, I hooked up with a medical company in the corporate sector. The job involved voice-over work and writing, so at first glance, it seemed like the perfect fit. I figured I could handle the hour commute each way, and actually looked forward to the structure of a nine-to-five life. They hired me as a contract worker for a three-month trial period to start, making more money than I’d ever seen before in any job, ever. It was an exciting time.
Well, for a little while. It didn't take long to realize this company was a horrible fit for me. I was not cut out for the mind-numbing hours, the negative management style, the technological challenges, the nearly non-existent training, and the fact that I ended up not doing what I was hired for. It almost seemed I was being primed to fail. To sum up, I lasted only two months. I wish I could say I got fed up and stormed out of that dysfunctional situation with my head high and my pride intact, but that’s not what happened. Even though I was miserable and cried almost every night on my way home from work, I was too damn stubborn to give up. I ended up getting blind-sided in the HR office, my supervisor too much of a coward even to be present, and was told—very kindly and sympathetically, I might add—that I was no longer an employee. And so I went to my desk, gathered my things, said goodbye to my co-workers and tried not to blubber. In short, it was humiliating.
A friend told me recently that failure is simply the manifestation of being in the wrong place, and that makes perfect sense to me. I did not belong in that company. But the fact remains that I worked hard, and couldn’t make it work. I failed. I was a failure.
But if failure is being in the wrong place, then success is being in the right place, and I’m hot on its trail. Most days, I’m happy to report that I set out with optimism, reminding myself of all the skills I possess, all the possibilities I know in front of me. And most days I can quiet the new, mean voice in the back of my head that whispers, and you might fail at this, too.
Most days.
-Callie
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Launch: Settling In
One again, procrastination has gotten the better of me and I'm sitting at the kitchen table at my parents' house churning out a blog at the very last second. Since the last time I wrote, I've officially moved into my apartment! Woohoo! I'm not living with my parents anymore! This, in and of itself, is a huge accomplishment, one that I'm extremely proud of. I've been actually sleeping there, in my own bed, in my own room, in my own apartment, for almost two weeks. I think I've gotten used to it, to an extent, the way I got used to dorm rooms and sleeping in bunks at summer camp, but it's definitely not home yet.
Part of the reason for that is that I still haven't moved most of my furniture from my bedroom at home to the apartment. My bedroom is mostly empty, save for the bed (full-sized with wheels on the frame so it slides around on the hardwood floors whenever I move in the middle of the night), a few laundry baskets of clean laundry, and several boxes of books that I have yet to unpack which are currently serving as tables for my lamps. It's sufficient for now, but my mom keeps reminding me that getting completely settled in and making it my own will make me a lot happier in the long run. Now to find a time when my parents aren't busy on a day when I'm also free so we can haul bureaus and bookcases up those three flights of stairs.
The best part of being away from home, so far, is my roommate. Let's call her Roomie, for convenience's sake. I met Roomie online about three years ago through my personal blog, and when we found out we lived two towns away from one another we immediately had to meet for lunch and have never looked back. We're ridiculously compatible in so many ways, both easygoing and open-minded, both a little messy, and both kind of addicted to the internet. Even when we're just chilling on the couch, both glued to our laptops, we can share what's going on and understand the context, which is something my parents never really got. We laugh a lot. And we're both at the same places in our lives. This is her first time living away from home (other than college of course) too, and while she's got a career started (she's a preschool teacher), we can commiserate on nearly everything. We're both helpless with the opposite sex, we both hate doing dishes, and we were both eccstatic about the shower curtain we bought, which features a map of the world. I couldn't have wished for a better roommate.
So now that that's all out of the way, I guess it's time for step two, which is finding a better-paying job. I just got my review at the bookstore where I've been working for about a year, and while I scored "skilled" in every area, because of these economic times they can't give me a raise. I make $8.25 an hour. There's something to be said for having a job I absolutely love, but I clearly can't work there forever. So there it is, right in front of me. That next hurdle to jump over. The dreaded job search. I've bought several books at my bookstore on finding the job that's right for you and all that, but have yet to crack them open. Damn you, procrastination.
~Fae
Part of the reason for that is that I still haven't moved most of my furniture from my bedroom at home to the apartment. My bedroom is mostly empty, save for the bed (full-sized with wheels on the frame so it slides around on the hardwood floors whenever I move in the middle of the night), a few laundry baskets of clean laundry, and several boxes of books that I have yet to unpack which are currently serving as tables for my lamps. It's sufficient for now, but my mom keeps reminding me that getting completely settled in and making it my own will make me a lot happier in the long run. Now to find a time when my parents aren't busy on a day when I'm also free so we can haul bureaus and bookcases up those three flights of stairs.
The best part of being away from home, so far, is my roommate. Let's call her Roomie, for convenience's sake. I met Roomie online about three years ago through my personal blog, and when we found out we lived two towns away from one another we immediately had to meet for lunch and have never looked back. We're ridiculously compatible in so many ways, both easygoing and open-minded, both a little messy, and both kind of addicted to the internet. Even when we're just chilling on the couch, both glued to our laptops, we can share what's going on and understand the context, which is something my parents never really got. We laugh a lot. And we're both at the same places in our lives. This is her first time living away from home (other than college of course) too, and while she's got a career started (she's a preschool teacher), we can commiserate on nearly everything. We're both helpless with the opposite sex, we both hate doing dishes, and we were both eccstatic about the shower curtain we bought, which features a map of the world. I couldn't have wished for a better roommate.
So now that that's all out of the way, I guess it's time for step two, which is finding a better-paying job. I just got my review at the bookstore where I've been working for about a year, and while I scored "skilled" in every area, because of these economic times they can't give me a raise. I make $8.25 an hour. There's something to be said for having a job I absolutely love, but I clearly can't work there forever. So there it is, right in front of me. That next hurdle to jump over. The dreaded job search. I've bought several books at my bookstore on finding the job that's right for you and all that, but have yet to crack them open. Damn you, procrastination.
~Fae
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