Notes from a job interview

You know you're a goner when song lyrics really seem to be describing your recent experiences, and life in general. You know the feeling: a song comes on the playlist, whether it's the one on your phone or the one on a streaming site like Pandora or Spotify, and you immediately start looking around for the camera which has obviously been following you and recording your day-to-day life. You think, holy crap, whoever wrote this song knows what has been happening to me...I am the MUSE for these lyrics. I used to feel that way about the comic strip "Zits" when my daughter was a teenager, then I realized the universality of the parenting experience. The same is true about life events such as moving, job hunting, falling in love, etc... 

Last week, I sat in a chair, twice, while four people I had never met took turns asking me questions about my training and experience and experience training others. They actually used the term "round robin" to describe their questioning technique, which immediately brought to mind one of my favorite children's picture books, Round Robin. Give me the chance and I can link almost any experience or circumstance to a children's or young adult book. (I wonder if that would be considered a marketable skill...) They asked probing questions about how I would build rapport and relationships which would lead to providing excellent services for students. I knew the answers because I have done this many times over the course of my 24-year career in education. I have experienced success in this area, and I will do that again, but first I have to convince these small groups representing a community such as a school or a large department, that I am the person who can provide this and so much more, given the opportunity.

Their questions made me pause and re-examine my abilities, closely. The one which really stumped me was what I could bring to the position, not knowing who else was in the running (which they acknowledged), that no one else could bring. No.one.else. Wow, that's a really tall order, so I definitely needed think time on that one. How could I prove I am truly one of a kind, a proposition which would make my family and friends howl with delight because, well, I'm definitely different, or so I've been told. I'm pretty sure the answer they were looking for wasn't snappy professional outfits, but I do have that attribute in the bag. Now mentally making a list and ticking the boxes: professional dress...check. Well, I thought, I have 22 years in a variety of classrooms and two as a specialist coordinating two separate district-wide programs, so that's something fairly significant, in my opinion. Classroom experience...check. Coordinator experience...check. I heard myself begin talking about my passion for my work. Passion and commitment...check. Experience building relationships with administrators and heads of departments...check. Perseverance in solving problems and finishing tasks...check. Professional development experience...check. Hey, I thought, I'm sounding pretty dang strong as a candidate for this position.

Before I became too big-headed to fit out of the door, they asked me a question I honestly had to answer "I'm sorry, but I don't know" to. Oh, well, I thought, if I knew everything, what would be left to learn? Now, to convince them that is actually a positive attribute...

Call Me

2016 

Goal #1: 

To NOT be stuck in the same place, literally and figuratively, this time next year. check 

Goal #2:

Live somewhere, almost anywhere, other than 20 miles south of the Oklahoma border. check

Goal #3:

Meet interesting and inspiring new people. check

Halfway through the year, I think my goal realization and acquisition is going pretty well, which is NOT to say life is totally awesome and on point (quite the opposite, actually), but, still, it is certainly no longer stagnant. I have a few pressing new goals, chief of which is FIND A JOB, then find a place to live fairly close to said job since I am now in a city of 2 million plus. Those two goals feel like the ever-present driving force in my life right now, but as long as I'm moving forward, I can keep my head up. Interesting side note: looking for a job is truly a full-time job. I think I knew that somewhere in the back of my mind, but I have very fortunately never actually experienced this form of survival anxiety...until now. Quite honestly, finding jobs always came pretty easy for me, and that was due in large part to several forms of privilege I acquired through the luck of my birth and genes. Thirty years later, the view is a little bit different, and at least one of those forms of privilege is gone. But still, I reek of privilege, and I know it.

I imagine searching for a job is a bit like making a living as a writer: get up, drink coffee, eat yogurt, get on the computer, search, select, write. Make yourself start writing and keep writing for at least several hours a day...it's a discipline. My writing these days consists of filling out job applications, composing letters of interest and drafting essays designed to catch someone's attention and convince him or her I at least merit an interview. EVERY.DAMN.DAY. That interview may be virtual or in person, but face-to-face is the objective. I know I am the solution to someone's workplace problem, but how do I find that particular workplace? That is the question which haunts me while I check multiple emails, online messages and job sites.

At this point, I'd like to give a shout out and BIG thank you to my wonderful friends and colleagues who agreed to be references for me. Until I agreed to provide references for homebound teachers I supervised as the program coordinator, I really had no idea how relentlessly a reference will be inundated with email requests to complete online surveys for the job seekers, especially if that job seeker is literally completing two to three job applications every day. Seriously, that's an astounding number of surveys, so I am in awe of my references' commitment to helping me navigate my way to a new post.

While maintaining connections with former colleagues and long-time friends in the north corridor of Texas, I have discovered that meeting new people in Austin has taken on an honestly double purpose. Yes, meeting new people is interesting and can be fun, and I always welcome it, regardless of where I am living. And, I am fortunate because I've already met some fascinating people I hope I get to hang out with on a regular basis (you know who you are, save that tree swing for me.) God knows, it's essential to make new connections when you move to a big, new city, but now I am meeting new people and networking/picking each brain for possible job leads. Sometimes it feels as creepy as it sounds. But, it's just a fact of introducing yourself into an extremely competitive job market: it really is who you know. And, let's face it - it's ALWAYS who you know. 

So, hello, perspective employers, I'm Lisa G., and I'm a problem solver. Yes, I have a not-so-hidden agenda, but I will be the best hiring decision you'll make this month, possibly this year, and I have a winning record to back that up. Just ask my references, please, they are very patient people, and call me.

Showdown in the Hometown

Have you heard the joke about the past, present and future walking into a bar? It was tense. And, so it was Tuesday evening in the front yard of Greg Abbott's childhood home.

Nearly 20 orange-clad constituents showed up at Abbott’s press conference and barbecue picnic in Wichita Falls with legitimate tickets in hand, and no one was more surprised than the newly-minted candidate himself. By the time he got to the third orange-shirted person in line to shake his hand, it had dawned on him what the color signified: he was being called out on his home turf. It obviously never occurred to Abbott that Wichita Falls might be harboring progressive, or, dare we say, liberal folks seeking to express their support for women’s reproductive health. 

It was the stuff childhood nightmares are made of: the unruly mob had tracked him down. Monsters, Inc., Nightmare on Elm Street, Twilight Zone - take your pick. Scenes from all the above could have been flashing through his mind. As he searched his memory for practiced talking points when confronted with a fellow Texan with a different point of view, Abbott visibly grimaced then gritted his teeth and finished shaking hands with each person in line. He might have been in his humble homestead, but he was not in his happy place.

Neither were some of the GOP organizers, as several women with Abbott for Governor stickers affixed to their blouses stared agape at the interlopers, and backup for the lone police officer was called in. Within half an hour, several deputies from the sheriff’s department had arrived to stand in a line in the street, ensuring no possible rabble-rousing without dire consequences. As Abbott was being introduced, a stocky man in a cowboy hat pushed his way through a group of women wearing orange and stood with his back to the speaker, inches from the women and deliberately blocking their view. Clearly, he was the intimidator. 

But, if he was looking for a scuffle, he was sorely disappointed. We didn’t have to raise our voices or respond with an actual physical show of force. We only had to wear orange and show up. Because of Wendy Davis’ brilliant filibuster, because of our Democrat senators’ and representatives’  vocal stance, because of orange-adorned protesters filling the Texas Capitol and cities across the state, because of social media spreading the news of an uprising like wildfire, we only had to be a presence. We were there to remind Greg Abbott and all those intent on robbing women of constitutional rights that a large and growing opposition not only exists, we vote, and we won’t back down.

Deja Vu

I time-traveled 30 years back in the last month or so, with nary a blue Tardis or DeLorean in sight. It happened in Texas, but reverberated across the nation and even the world. In a strange nod to my fifth decade on the planet, I was suddenly thrust back into my high school and college years' memory of first becoming aware of what reproductive rights even were. The Roe v. Wade decision was barely 10 years old, but the sexual revolution for women in the 70s was strong and empowering. We naively thought it was a battle to be fought and won, then passed to the next generation fully intact. How very wrong we were.

The Moral Majority backlash during the Reagan years forced us to once again rally in number to remind politicians they had no business sitting in the exam room, weighing in on a decision between a woman and her physician. With the election of Ann Richards as Texas governor, the message seemed to have been received and embedded in memory, especially in a state which prides itself on personal liberty and rugged individualism. "Don't Mess With Texas" was a stick-in-your-memory slogan with multi-purpose applications: littering, guns, property, livestock, liquor, even motorcycle helmets. Anti-seat belt activists tried to apply it to their preference, and though seat belts became the law of the land, I know many die-hard, free-styling driving enthusiasts to this day. I would just relegate them to the Darwin Awards category today, along with those helmet-free motorcyclists. Process of natural selection, y'all. However, we can now add "Don't Mess With Texas Women" to the lexicon of state sloganeering, and how apropos it is. Littering, guns, property, livestock, liquor, motorcycle helmets and...VAGINAS?

If you had told me then I would be fighting alongside my 20-year-old daughter in 2013 for the very same reproductive rights I had in 1983, I would have laughed in your face. No way, not possible, I would have said. We won that war, I would have said. Our society is moving forward into a new millennium, with staggering technological advances and scientific breakthroughs, I would have said. The very thought of women being treated as anything other than equal and capable beings with the intelligence to make personal reproductive choices was simply incomprehensible to me. How very wrong I was.

I accept full responsibility for what has happened. I blame myself and my generation. Complacency won, and now look where we are. We focused on building careers and families, and checked out of feminist politics like fair-weather friends. We thought our daughters would reap the benefits of the battles we had fought early on, but we didn't tend the garden and heed the signs of encroaching parasites who sought to consume not only the fruit, but the roots of our labor.

The alarm has sounded loud and clear, and we know what we have to do. Don't back down or pretend not to hear. Don't hide behind "no longer my issue" excuses. We had choices, and this generation and coming generations deserve choices, too.

When you are engulfed by fur

If you're planning to visit my house, please do not wear black clothing of any kind. Navy blue and dark brown are also not recommended. Consider yourself warned. Our house is a fur house, and no amount of vacuuming or dusting can change that fact. Well, at least that's what I believe, although I've never tested the theory that daily cleaning could somehow control the level of fur. I don't need a new hobby.
If such a thing existed as a furometer to measure fur saturation within a given space, and on that furometer there was a scale of 1 to 5 with 5 being total fur saturation, our house would probably hover at a 4 most of the time. Now, don't think (or fear, depending on how much you love us or want to protect the family name) you might be seeing us on an upcoming episode of "Hoarders" or "Animal Hoarders." We're not living in a health hazard...unless you have animal dander allergies or asthma. Which we might have. Our animal family member numbers are still within a reasonable human to canine/feline ratio, in our opinion, with everyone fed, spayed or neutered, and seen by vets as needed. We also keep the clutter to a minimum, scoop the poop nightly, run the dishwasher on a regular basis, and take the trash out twice weekly, thank you very much.
We have been in an ongoing search for the ultimate fur-removal devices over the last 15 years, and in the process we've amassed a rather impressive and diverse collection of lint rollers, dog brushes, textured rubber gloves, hand vacs, upright vacuums, canister vacuums, carpet shampooers, bladed fur removers, and incredibly magnetic microfiber cloths. Obviously, suction is very important. If it can't suck the varnish off the coffee table, we're not interested. It takes a lot to impress us. Of course, all these great devices depend on human interaction to work, and there's the rub. No pun intended. Really. 
As I stated before, I don't need a new hobby, so I'm still working on working in regular floor maintenance to my fairly busy schedule. I think it's a motivational issue or maybe I just work very slowly, but it seems like as soon as I finish vacuuming, sweeping, and mopping all the floors, it's time to start again in the first room I finished...a few days or maybe a week ago. Did I mention that we share our home with two long-haired cats of the Maine Coon variety? They have tufts of fur coming out of their ears, for Pete's sake. It's the neverending, constantly replenishing fur factory.
I am also stumped by the ever-challenging debate of which chore should be done first: dusting or vacuuming? If you dust first, will the dirt kicked up by the act of vacuuming then settle on the newly-dusted surfaces? Or, if you vacuum first, where does all that dust go as you remove it from each surface? Gravity definitely plays a role in the latter scenario, and I believe in gravity. This whole debate is not unlike the chicken and the egg conundrum, in my opinion. Virtually unanswerable.
While internally pondering how to juggle the house cleaning responsibilities, one cat curled up on my lap, rendering me virtually unable to move for at least an hour. He prefers his sleep cycle not be disturbed, and he is going to have a busy day tomorrow what with all that napping in each room, climbing up on the dryer to eat, and molting on the floor and sofa.  So...like I said at the beginning, please don't wear black, navy blue, or dark brown when you visit my house. You'll thank me.

Why does 2012 sound so surreal?

Welcome to 2012...*cue weird electronica soundtrack and move into the sci-fi section of the library*. I'm pretty sure I know where I've been the last 30 years, but, still, living - or actually being very much alive and kicking in 2012 sounds very futuristic and surreal. Nothing in this faraway future looks the way we thought it would look back when I was a kid watching "Night Gallery" through the holes in my grandmother's afghan. A true child of the 60s, I grew up with images from "The Jetson's," "Star Trek," "2001: A Space Odyssey," and everyone's perennial favorite, "Soylent Green," disturbingly fixed in my long-term memory, so the reality of 2012 next to those fantasies/nightmares is rather jarring. Why haven't we figured more things out? Why haven't we fixed more of our problems? Why do we still drive gas-powered cars on regular old asphalt roads? At least we're not eating one another...yet. Reason enough to celebrate.