I’ve noticed that being unemployed, and subsequently looking for work, involves a lot of waiting. I wait for new ads to be posted on the multiple job sites I frequent. I wait to hear back from organizations to which I have submitted applications. I wait for my interview, when I’m fortunate enough to get one. Then I wait to hear if there will be a second interview or if I’ve gotten the job … or not.
Today, I’m waiting with all my might. How usual, right? But today’s waiting seems harder than in the past. I’m waiting to hear if I got a job I interviewed for on Friday. I was told a decision would be made today, but was not given a time frame as to when I would be contacted. I wait for my phone to ring, and I wait for an e-mail with news to appear. As I wait, I find myself on the cusp of tears; they are smarting my eyes even as I type this post. Why? What is different about this particular waiting game?
It is likely the answer comes with the unceasing tick of seconds falling like grains of sand into the lower chamber of an hour glass. It is likely the answer comes with the close-at-hand need to change my Mary Engelbreit calendar from April (“If you can’t be a good example, you’ll just have to be a terrible warning.”) to May (“Life can only be understood backwards, but must be lived forwards.”). It is likely the answer comes with the lack of new jobs to which I can apply today; nothing in the offing to stave off the endless waiting. It is likely, too, the answer comes with the fact that today I submitted my final claim for unemployment benefits; the end of the line in that regard and a big, b-i-g, BIG one at that.
So I wait, attempting to do so without worry and fear, rolling my neck on my shoulders to loosen the tension that is bordering on a headache … Then my phone rings a familiar song, meaning it’s someone I know; a dear friend calling to check on me and see if I’ve heard about the job.
“We’re rooting for you,” he assures me, and I know that’s true. His simple, thoughtful kindness is all it takes to make the waiting tears flow. It is comforting to know that my friends can hold hope for me when I just can’t anymore, and to know hope will return to me as it always does … I just have to wait.
