UNIVERCITY Magazine "Life of a College Grad" Column
By Katie Lawrence
For most of us, high school was the time to fret about our future careers. At least, that's what I was thinking at my college graduation ceremony last May. With a year-long internship and a BFA under my belt, my professors assured me that I had everything I needed to work in publishing. I was ready to pack up and leave my smelly dorm room, impossibly loud roommates, and tiny paychecks far behind. The next steps toward freedom seemed simple: save as much as I could in the next month with my usual summer job, and land a position in New York before unpacking a single box.
After three months of job searching without any callbacks, my self doubt spiraled viciously out of control. Convinced that the lack of response meant I was a horrible writer, I planned to be living with my parents for eternity. I applied for any position that vaguely represented my skills, even internships with little pay. Finally, a publisher inNew York called to schedule an interview. But the opportunity did little to relieve my vision of failure.
Everything that could have gone wrong, did not. My car did not break down, my train was not delayed, and I did not show up late. In what was the most comfortable interview I've ever experienced, I spoke eloquently and efficiently, and met my potential boss, who chatted with me as if I were a visiting friend. Until he reminded me that interviewing was not always going to be this convenient.
"We're looking for an editorial assistant who can be here now," he said, "which leaves little time to find an apartment. Is there a friend's couch you could sleep on?" As I assured him that I was more than prepared for this possibility, I realized I was not. The city suddenly seemed alienating and expensive. Making copies and coffee for the meager salary I could expect to receive as an editorial assistant, when my true passion was writing, was not my idea of success.
I never received a job offer from that interview, but I did gain a valuable contact. The department editor has referred me to his friends in publishing, and some of those referrals have lead to interviews. By trying to skip all the little steps—searching for companies both big and small, gaining some experience at my hometown publications, and working to produce better writing samples—I skipped the development of my actual career goals, different from the ones college instilled in me.
Looking back at my first resumes and cover letters, I cringe at how inexperienced they seem compared to my updated applications—which are now providing results. I've been hired to write for my local paper, and while it's not a full time gig, I'd be stupid to complain. Unpacking a single box, no matter how many you have left, brings you one step closer to feeling at home.
By Katie Lawrence
For most of us, high school was the time to fret about our future careers. At least, that's what I was thinking at my college graduation ceremony last May. With a year-long internship and a BFA under my belt, my professors assured me that I had everything I needed to work in publishing. I was ready to pack up and leave my smelly dorm room, impossibly loud roommates, and tiny paychecks far behind. The next steps toward freedom seemed simple: save as much as I could in the next month with my usual summer job, and land a position in New York before unpacking a single box.
After three months of job searching without any callbacks, my self doubt spiraled viciously out of control. Convinced that the lack of response meant I was a horrible writer, I planned to be living with my parents for eternity. I applied for any position that vaguely represented my skills, even internships with little pay. Finally, a publisher inNew York called to schedule an interview. But the opportunity did little to relieve my vision of failure.
Everything that could have gone wrong, did not. My car did not break down, my train was not delayed, and I did not show up late. In what was the most comfortable interview I've ever experienced, I spoke eloquently and efficiently, and met my potential boss, who chatted with me as if I were a visiting friend. Until he reminded me that interviewing was not always going to be this convenient.
"We're looking for an editorial assistant who can be here now," he said, "which leaves little time to find an apartment. Is there a friend's couch you could sleep on?" As I assured him that I was more than prepared for this possibility, I realized I was not. The city suddenly seemed alienating and expensive. Making copies and coffee for the meager salary I could expect to receive as an editorial assistant, when my true passion was writing, was not my idea of success.
I never received a job offer from that interview, but I did gain a valuable contact. The department editor has referred me to his friends in publishing, and some of those referrals have lead to interviews. By trying to skip all the little steps—searching for companies both big and small, gaining some experience at my hometown publications, and working to produce better writing samples—I skipped the development of my actual career goals, different from the ones college instilled in me.
Looking back at my first resumes and cover letters, I cringe at how inexperienced they seem compared to my updated applications—which are now providing results. I've been hired to write for my local paper, and while it's not a full time gig, I'd be stupid to complain. Unpacking a single box, no matter how many you have left, brings you one step closer to feeling at home.
