What prompted me to write this is because I have been just that close. A lot, and especially recently. Coming fifth or ninth sucks, but second?
I have devoted so much time and effort to their interview process that I feel that I know the company better than their staff! But that’s what most of us do when we go for a job.
I wanted to yell: “You have no idea how much I would devote to you and your empire: how much harder I would work to get it right”
But you can’t. Someone else was younger, better looking, more experienced, needing less $, and so it goes. When I attended a required interview with the local unemployment office, we were told that we will hear:
“Too Young, Too Old; Over Qualified; Under Qualified.”
I disagree. I have been told all of the above at various stages throughout my career. It remains an enigma to me that a person can make a judgement about another based on a phone call, an email and perhaps an on-site interview. I was a click, a nod or a “Yay” away from being able to continue to live and work in the town I have grown to love over the past ten years. I was second best.
It’s the way the cookie crumbles. It’s the way the dice fall. It’s the one thing that pissed them off. It’s the experience that I lacked. It’s the…
Who knows. But when people say “things have a way of working out for the best,” I want to spray washing-up liquid into their eyes!
Having arrived here on the mother ship, Pan-Am Flight 69er (no clue), back in ’89, with some other gold diggers…
Not really, but could have been interpreted that way. The Forty-Niners were playing “football” in the Super Bowl. Huh? Not telling who won 😉
I have now lived in this wondrous state of California for 24 years. Married twice, divorced once; I adapted to the lifestyle with flourish and verve.
I was kinda cute in a Kate Moss without the Croydon accent and cheekbones way. When I was in my teens dad said I would make a great Playboy Bunny. Again, minus the boobs, and Croydon accent but perhaps with slightly better cheekbones…?
Love being a West Londoner. Very important unless you weren’t.
Have bags more to share but if it’s only dad reading this, I had better stop now!
Living in northern California I would like to consider we have all four seasons. They may not be as distinct as ones we witness in the UK, but there is a change in our weather pattern and climate. It’s spring-like weather now. Temperatures are high 60s – mid 70s, mostly. Rain is glorified in its’ fickle way of surprise. It could be colder than a witches elbow by Sunday. Sunshine is welcome in between the storms. Always.
What will never cease to amaze me, on whatever side of the pond or ocean we are; clothing choices, or lack thereof become something we have commonality with.
Today started off a little hazy with the fog or cloud cover not clearing until lunchtime. Perfect weather to take the dog for a hike in a nearby park. I dressed in long cotton pants and a thick but short-sleeved top (sorry, no pic available;-). Folks were JOGGING wearing sweatshirts, hats and hoodies. On the other hand, others were taking a leisurely stroll in micro-lycro whatsits and thingies.
To be continued . . .
A long, long time ago, in a country far away, a baby was born. Me.
Born in Canada. Raised in England. Now living in the US. Who knew that I would grow up to be a citizen of all three countries. One by birth, one by paternal adoption and one by choice!
I will always consider myself a Londoner (west, please!) No greater place to live as a teen and twenty-something in the 80s and 90s. Unless you were a teen in northern California. Where I now live. Or Canada . . .
My move to the USA was unscripted and unplanned. Went through the Green Card process and after seven years, the citizenship gig. Not for the faint hearted at any step of the way. Expensive, time-consuming and very, very complicated.
So, late in 2012 I was feeling a little unsettled and perhaps that was what spurred me into applying for my original birth certificate from Ontario, Canada.
A few days ago, after months of waiting, I received by regular mail a copy of my original birth certificate. It didn’t include or exclude anything that I wasn’t already aware of.
It’s just comforting to have written acknowledgment of where you began.
I’d love to hear about how you got from there to here!