Defeat can be a lot of things. It can be about wanting that last item at the grocery store, only for someone else to grab it before you. It can be about a lost love, and learning to wait for the right one. Learning to accept defeat is a bitter pill to swallow but the patience you store afterward is so rewarding.
A few months out of college, I was ripping through Indeed and Monster in hopes of finding my first job. By page three, I had applied to seven jobs. By page eight, 34. I was willing to take anything and everything. I just need financial stability away from my parents, and prove to them two degrees was worth the extra credit hours fee. Also, tattoos were never really their thing.
Out of the 34 I applied to, only four called me back for an interview. It felt like I was applying to college again, trying to prove everything I’ve done in my twenty-four years of life amounted to being a copywriter at a big magazine company. Honestly, getting my hands on any kind of work was the end all be all. I was willing to fetch coffee for eight people at a time.
The places and I scheduled the interviews for early next week. I was so excited to finally be given a chance to show my worth and importance and what I could add to a team, though that sounds really unsettling about the “worth” part. A week flew by, and I was getting my black blazer, black pants, and black pumps out of the closet. Why does business attire have you dress like you’re preparing for a funeral? Quite the irony I would say.
I would say the interviews went swimmingly. I hit every question with a solid answer, no hesitation, even made them laugh a little. I was sure to get four calls back. They said they would let me know after Thursday. Friday came, and I still had no calls, no emails. Most people told me that there was my answer, but I hate to think that no response is a response.
After getting in contact with all the places, they broke me the news of how other people were qualified or I wasn’t what they were looking for and blah blah blah. Basically, I didn’t get any of the jobs. I was devastated and confused, I thought I had it all, until the revolving door decided to slam in my face four times. I sat in the room I grew up in my parent’s house and ate my weight in Ben & Jerry’s.
But my parents encouraged me to keep trying, to not give up. Giving up is letting them win, even if you’ve already been defeated. After letting the dust settle, I picked myself back up and decided looking for jobs again. Eventually, one worked out well and I got my first job after what felt like took a lifetime. Moral of this story is to forget about all the negatives, and focus on what the positives could be. You never know what the right door is unless you keep knocking.