the state of being unemployed

People said such wonderful things to me while I was planning the trip. It’ll be an adventure, you’ll see so much, who doesn’t want a nine-month holiday? You’ll come back so seasoned and mature for all your experiences. You’ll appreciate everything so much more once you’ve been away. There will be life experience, so vital in young women.

I’ve been home 7 weeks tomorrow and while some of the above is true, the one thing I’ve felt sorely in the last weeks is despair at being unemployment.

I’ve hated being unemployed. Not just because no work means I am cooped up at home with nothing to do, but because it means I have to hear rejection constantly.

It can really get a person down, the no, no, no, not yet, no, no, maybe, no, no… a constant rhythm that is reinstated every time you check your emails, every time you answer the phone and every time you make the mistake of checking your voice mail. This last one I try not to do, but by gosh, whenever I did, it was enough to fling the phone away from me.

There have been jobs in my life since I was 15 and some months. With the exception of my first year at uni I have always juggled work and uni, this year everything changed.

This year I didn’t go to uni and I didn’t go to work. I got on a plane instead and flew to the other side of the world and started an adventure. It began with one of my best friends meeting me at the airport with a smile and a slight sigh that said it all: we’re actually doing this, aren’t we.

Sounds like whinging after a year of travel doesn’t it?

Who doesn’t want to take a year off and see things and do things. It really does sound great in theory but it’s not so great when you return home with no money and no job. Life is hard and boy have I learnt that lesson lately.

Ah well, take shorter holidays from now, right, check.

But more than that, I feel like I have very little to show for this year. Photographs, some memories I couldn’t capture, a few great experiences, some not so great – but nothing real. Nothing that means anything to anyone but me.

Is that a good thing? I don’t know. Is it even a thing – who knows.

For now, I’m going to bed with a befuddled mind.

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