I wrote the following three paragraphs exactly a year ago.
the window to my right at a job interview last week
“This morning I woke up earlier than usual in hopes of having a so-called ‘slow morning’. Also, I wanted to be fully ready for my job interview at a book shop in Greenwich and please, don’t romanticize the concept of working at a bookshop. I mean, I know I would imagine it as a scene from a movie where Hugh Grant owns a bookshop in central London and has no customers except for famous actresses wandering around. Anyhow, this one is a bit rougher. Not in a bad way though! It has its charm, like the product placement - Anna Karenina and a clearly 100% true Meghan Markle biography put next to dodgy 1001 Ways to Tell Your Future books. It’s just like that old electric teapot in your first dorm room – God knows it’s had its run, it looks a bit funky now, but it still does the job and that’s enough for you! As long as you get that damn cup of tea.
It takes around 30 minutes to walk from where I live to Greenwich, so I left in a timely manner and tried to find some upbeat, but not too party-ish songs on my playlist to get me in a confident mood. One of them was “Suddenly I See” which reminded me of the day Andrea from Devil Wears Prada went to her job interview.
On my arrival at the bookshop, there was no one in sight who looked like an employee or a ‘book boss’, until I spotted a man who seemed disinterested enough in all the books to be the owner. You know what I mean? When you are so used to all that you have that you don’t care about its presence anymore?”
Indeed,
“when you are so used to all that you have that you don’t care about its presence anymore”.
Did self-isolation prove that to be true. Relationships seem worthier. The freezing air outside – fresher than before, and suddenly - you like the cold. You don’t mind the weight of a hat and an extra layer of gloves. Food – oh, how much you can make from buckwheat (a vegan cake; eat it with milk and sugar; a stir fry), something you have always taken for granted. Also, did you know you can take some of the flowers your mother nurtures dearly in the garden, and put them in a vase in the kitchen for the fragrance to surround you? And the books – who knew there were so many at your parent’s house?
I had a job interview last week too, for a junior role at a company. This time I was actually looking forward to the conversation.
The interview turned out to be therapeutic, it felt unforced and light, and my respect goes out to the two interviewers who managed to get some sensitive information out of one of the most private human beings out there (maybe it is true that we find it easier to open up to strangers?).
At one point they asked me
“We all make some mistakes in our lives. What do you consider a failure in yours?”
That shut me up. Staring out the window to my right as if the world outside would know the answers I couldn’t manage to find. It’s odd, I’ve always been so dedicated to my goals in life that I never looked at not reaching some of them as a failure. I always excused them as “everything happens for a reason” and immediately set my mind on another goal. I turned a new page without ever processing the loss. Was that a mistake?
“What do you consider a failure in your life?” What the hell is a failure? Do I have to have any at 22? Honest to God, that’s what ran through my mind. I did find an answer, I think it was hiding somewhere deep inside all along. But that’s beside the point, I’ll talk about that answer another time. For now, I’ll let the two strangers guard my secrets.
I used to look at job interviews as something dreadful and unnatural, a process where you had to hold back your natural communication instincts of making a sarcastic joke or laughing at uncomfortable moments if such arise. Now, it’s a rare opportunity to converse with like-minded people. An antique.
Would I have come to this realization if it wasn’t for 2020?
It is a funny, sad, and childish paradox we ricochet back and forth from. The simplest things are taken away from you - ones you have grown oh so used to. They may be material things, but for some it’s a person, a place or just a feeling. They’re gone and you’re suddenly wounded.
So, we ricochet. From ignorance to a state of longing, and back.
I didn’t get the job at the bookshop. But I did get to walk 30 minutes to Greenwich through crowded streets without wondering how much I would miss it one day.
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