Days of gloom

Welcome to the house of gloom, where nothing seems to go right for very long. Hopes take wing briefly, only to falter under the weight of our endless mediocre luck. We've once again failed to achieve escape velocity from our beige suburban purgatory.

My husband recently threw himself into job hunting in a city with a thriving Jewish community and lovely stretch of coastline. Ocean breezes! Gorgeous sunsets! Surfing lessons!

More importantly, I wouldn't have to hunt for a synagogue or religious school or even a few friends to invite over for Shabbos dinner. I'd have two major universities for creative writing classes and an enviable array of farmers' markets, health food stores and restaurants, parks, etc., and, when I was ready, some decent career options.

And most importantly, Plosh could've cut his commute from an hour+ each way to about 10 minutes. He'd get his life back. He could come home for lunch, let alone dinner.

He'd applied for this particular job in September. The firm called him in November, after he'd forced himself to forget about them. He drove more than two hours each way -- twice -- in December for interviews and still managed to sneak into work without the bosses noticing his absence.

Things dragged on. Plosh took me to this lovely seaside burg for the day and we picked up an apartment magazine, just to daydream. We decided not to get our hopes up.

The company showered him with praise and a few weeks ago sent him to a management consultant, a psychologist who took up 2-1/2 hours of his time on a busy Friday, forcing him to work late and get home long after Minitaur and I were asleep.

But he had hope, real hope, for the first time in years. He's 41 and at that age where he's no longer attractive to many potential employers, who see him as too old to learn new tricks and with salary needs much higher than some pipsqueak straight out of college. This was a rare chance to change course to something grander, a managerial position with a staff, a budget, a chance to leave an imprint on a company and at the same time ensconce his family in better surroundings, even if we had to rent for a few years.

And then came the idiotic bad news -- that the corporation and its managers weren't speaking the same language, that signals got crossed, that the position would remain unfilled for five years.

So it's back to the salt mines. We both spent the entire week in a fog, distracted only briefly when my younger brother visited from Maryland with his lovely bride and stepson. We went to Disneyland and somehow managed not to dissolve into tears the entire day. My brother and his family are on their own roller coaster right now, with the excitement of a new life together, the nagging logistics of combining two households and the joys and complications of a baby due in May.

Being a good hostess, I left them all but oblivious to our pain and neither Plosh nor I talked about our dismay, our dashed hopes, our growing despair.

Even buying a toaster oven yesterday turned into another excuse for self-pity. We're stuck, we agreed. May as well get used to it.

To be sure, we have our blessings. We have a baby on the way. Our increasingly decrepit home has nearly tripled in value. We have our health and each other. I'm sure people will chime in with how much worse others have it, which I never find consoling. I don't feel like hearing it, frankly.

People with one-upmanship stories didn't have to see the lost, sad look on my husband's face all week or put up with his uncharacteristic grumpiness. They don't understand what it's like to see your halogen-brained man stuck in a 60-watt job.

Okay, I'm through kvetching. I'm off to a religious retreat for women sponsored by the local Chabad. I hope to come home spiritually uplifted and glowing with holiness. Or something like that. Anything helps.

Comments

[plosh]

That said, I refuse to give up. Bring on round 38.

[Gooch]

So sorry that this didn't end up working out. And I *SO* agree with you on the lack of comfort in "one upmanship I've got it bad" stories. Somehow, when I'm sitting in an hour commute on a 10 mile drive into work, thinking about how bad the people in Rwanda have it just doesn't do it for me.

[Kitty]

Kvetch away. It doesn't matter how insignificant a thing is in the cosmic scheme of things, if it's making you miserable then you have a right to that misery.

Fingers crossed something happens soon to boost your spirits.

[Ontario Emperor]

"And then came the idiotic bad news -- that the corporation and its managers weren't speaking the same language, that signals got crossed, that the position would remain unfilled for five years."

I have to laugh at the corporate planner who made the grand pronouncement that a particular position will be filled five years from now. Should Plosh reapply in 2010, saying "You promised"?

I was one of two finalists for a position once, but then the company eliminated both candidates because neither of us had profit/loss experience, and they suddenly decided that this was important. Perhaps I should try again in five years...

[Anne]

Okay, I got a hilarious email from a family friend who insisted the situation could be worse.

She outlined the following scenario:
1. We move back to the same city as my mother;
2. Plosh becomes editor of the local fishwrap/scandal sheet (a waste of trees if there ever was one);
3. My entire family helps us move and offers non-stop "advice" on how to raise my kids;
4. I take up residence at the local mental hospital.

I feel better already. Heh.

[T_M]

Oh cut it out, lots of people have it...

Just kidding. I'm sorry to hear about your disappointments. If it makes you feel a little better, you should know that I was in a similar situation about 5 years ago and it forced me to change career paths. Within a year I had rebounded and have never looked back. It is when you are challenged most that you discover your inner resources. I hope this becomes an opportunity, not a missed opportunity.

[Anne]

Many thanks. The hubby is rethinking things and so am I. Meanwhile, life goes on. Cheers.