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Exactly two weeks ago, I wrote this:

67 applications, 10 interviews, 9 hours of testing, 3 rejections, and 2 offers later, I finally have a job.

Often discouraging and sometimes insulting, this job search has been a merciless test of my resolve and patience. Over the past five weeks, I’ve been judged, criticized, disrespected, manipulated, and lied to, but none of it matters anymore because after all of that, I’ve landed my first choice job.

After today’s final interview at that job, I was promised that good news would be delivered to me within the day. I had dinner in my neighborhood, talked to my best friend, and came home. Once I was in my apartment, all the tension dissolved and I cried. It had been so hard.

And then I stopped writing because I knew there was still a chance that I might not get the job. But I also knew the Vice President wouldn’t make such a promise lightly, so I kept my hopes up and stopped looking for more jobs (mostly out of sheer exhaustion, not confidence). I waited all afternoon and evening that day for the promised email, but 8 o’clock rolled around and it still hadn’t come and I had to leave for a date. Throughout the date, I checked my phone every time it vibrated. Still no email. I kept the above writing in my drafts and waited some more. A lot more.

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Every time I have a discouraging job interview, I re-play the most depressing bits over and over in my head until I get home, eat an unhealthy meal, browse the internet, and think about which movie or TV show to watch for the rest of the night.

But I never get to watching anything, because at some point, some unexplainable force compels me to work. Do work of any kind. Produce things, complete tasks. So I reply to emails, send out more cover letters, and schedule more interviews.

And then I write. I write like my life depends on it, because this is why I left my job. I quit because I wanted to write more, and I’m not gonna let that decision go to waste. I write because it calms me and stirs me at the same time.

I write to be okay. I write to be okay with the fact that I’ve sent out 54 applications and only had 4 interviews. I write to be okay with how little I’ve saved up over the past two and half years. I write to forget about the numbers, realize my mistakes, and recognize that I’m doing the best I can.

I write because no matter how many people refuse to give me a chance, I’m never going to give up.

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