Funemployed

Why don’t the ones you want ever want you? This is not a rumination on men, though it could be and often is. This is a statement about my internship hunt.

It has taken a lot for me to share this struggle with y’all. More than anything I want people to perceive me as successful, so to go back on all those ideals and admit that I may be unemployed this summer is so not me. However, so rarely are we alone in our struggles. I hope this rings true to someone else, too.

I have been fishing for internships since September, when my friend Ferons alerted me that I should maybe start doing that. Previously, I had thought of unemployment as a theoretical issue, someone else’s problem. I was 12 when the housing market collapsed in 2008. I didn’t dream that we would still be dealing with the aftermath 8 years later, when I was finally seeking a big girl job.

To clarify, I am not unemployed in the sense that most people are unemployed. I will still have a place to stay and food to eat and *~* healthcare,*~* which is good because I am always sick. I am not at any risk of actual danger. I am just frustrated.

I have received a lot of rejection emails, and most of them were so positive that I was a little bit unsure if I was being rejected or proposed to, a la Chris and Ann Perkins from Parks and Rec. I’m not entirely sure the interviews I went on weren’t just a misinterpretation of an especially nice rejection email. A key component of a rejection email, I have learned, is the word unfortunately. Unfortunately, we have filled this position. Unfortunately, you do not meet our needs at this time. Unfortunately, we are not even hiring, we don’t know how you got this number, please cease and desist.

I could work at the pool, as I have in summers past, but last summer a man told me he wanted to put my feet next to his face all day. Later, I realized I only got paid 12 cents for that interaction– and that is a generous estimate– and that kind of killed the entire proposition for me.

Hopefully, this is not a period of unemployment, but rather underemployment, or perhaps, ideally, funderemployment,a term I have just coined for working a menial job but also pursuing interests that would have been neglected had I accepted an internship in my field. I’m hoping to keep practicing pilates, teach Smudge the cat to walk on a leash, read a book every day and grow tomatoes.

My aunt Kris once tried to grow vegetables in her garden. She said she had this idea of a kumbaya moment with her children in the garden, but she ended up dirty with a crying baby and a little weiner dog on the loose. I am fairly certain at one point this summer I will be dirty and sweaty (because it is regularly 102 with 75% humidity in Kansas in July and that’s why home prices are so cheap) and I will whisper fuck you, little tomatoes because I am naturally impatient and not a good gardener. At least I recognize that possibility.

I will have to work the rest of my life and I probably won’t have the time to get mad at my tomatoes. Just the other day, my mom asked Steven if he wanted to come with us to Orlando– she would by the ticket. But Steven is in his busy season at work, so he can’t come. If I ever turn down a free trip to Orlando, put out a hit on me. I mean, it’s good we have hardworking people like Steven as our nuclear energy risk analysts, but free time is undervalued.

That being said, if anyone in the finance, data analytics, or legal industries is looking for an intern, please hire me. I don’t value free time that much. 

Megan

P.S. Check out this fancy new layout. Moving up in the world.

P.P.S. Add me on LinkedIn

1 Shot Glass of Sunscreen: My First Melanoma Talk

Last night I gave my first presentation as a certified melanoma educator to my sorority sisters. My journey to this point began in 2012, when my aunt Kris was diagnosed with stage IV melanoma and our family became embroiled in the unfairness of the disease. For a long time, I flirted with involvement: I worked on lobbying for a version of an anti-tanning bill in Kansas that we are still fighting for, four years later.  When I discovered I could become a peer educator, I was elated. Finally, I could use my passion for being the center of attention for some good.

I had prepared a lot of jokes for this presentation and I was, unsurprisingly, excited to tell them (side note– if I could have any job without consequence it would either be a farmer or a late night talk show host). I was also really nervous. My presentation was about something that could be perceived as a personal attack for much of my audience because indoor tanning is extremely popular among young women and UV exposure (from the sun and indoor tanning) causes 90% of melanomas. I was scared that people would roll their eyes or even walk out on me. I avoided telling people what my presentation was about until they were already seated. I prepared a long speech for the beginning of my presentation about how this was a non-judgmental space which included that I would avoid making direct eye contact if it made people uncomfortable.

I didn’t end up making that speech. When I told my audience that my presentation was about melanoma prevention and detection, several people exclaimed, “Yes! I needed this.” I nearly had to pick my jaw up off the floor. When I expected hostility, I was welcomed. When I talked about melanoma detection–  a section called “Moles Outta Control”– I saw people inspecting their moles. One girl even shared her own melanoma scar. When my voice broke as I talked about my aunt Kris’s heartbreaking battle with melanoma, they listened to my story as raptly as if I was announcing the themes for the rest of the year’s date parties. Though I feared talking about my story would make me a pariah, after I was finished people came to talk to me the same old way about the same things: our marketing test, my plans for Friday night.  Everywhere that I expected apathy, there was willingness, engagement, and empathy. I could not have asked for a better first audience.

It was a lesson to me in the ways we try to protect ourselves from injury: by assuming the worst in others, by losing faith before even starting. It takes courage to go where you think you will fail, but it is calming and revitalizing to weather a storm– or calm water where you thought a storm would be. I need to take more leaps of faith.

xo, happy Friday, stay out of the sun.

Megan

The title of this post is from the amount of sunscreen you should use every time you apply: one ounce or a little less than a shot glass worth.

February

If it had been any other year I would’ve already missed my chance to do a February update. However, fortune favors those who don’t own calendars or something like that.

The past two months have been a whirlwind of activity. I started my second semester of sophomore (really junior because I came in with mad AP credits but I’m refusing to take less than four years) year. It’s been an uncomfortable adjustment. My classes are really hard and there’s a sense of pressure in the air to get an internship and start climbing that corporate ladder. For the first time, the academic pressure might not be created solely by me being a total competitive psychopath. It might actually be real. At the same time, I’ve been reading the controversial book Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg, which deals with women in the workplace and her personal philosophy on work-life balance. It’s been interesting to try to scope out some form of balance in my life when my natural inclination is pedal-to-the metal.

I am lucky to have a great sounding board in this. My mom is a #girlboss, though she would probably argue with that term. She is my personal momager, if only because momtor (mom mentor) and moss (mom boss) sound weird. 

She rocks. In a world that tells me to relentlessly go forward, she reminds me that sometimes it is better to lean out. Earlier this year, I said almost jokingly that if I couldn’t get an internship I would go camp and volunteer at Yellowstone all summer and she asked if she could come too. I was surprised that someone as accomplished and organized as my mother would even consider that to be a valid plan. She reminds me daily that I am young and life is long and no one really has a plan or knows what they’re doing. Word is still out if you will be able to find us in a tent this summer, but I know no matter what she will support me (my dad will also support me– from the comfort of his power recliner).

In the spirit of leaning out, or rather, leaning into only those things I really care about, I became a rho chi recruitment leader. While it doesn’t sound as impressive as some of the other things I work on (no one ever asks me about it in an interview), finding out that I was chosen to help 90 freshmen women find their home during rush week brought me to tears. I screamed and jumped and scared my boyfriend when I found out; I still count it as one of the happiest moments of my life. I think about my chance to make an impact on these women often; I already feel personally invested in their success. If nothing else goes right with my internship search or my summer plans, but I am able to help my rho chi group find community at Alabama, I will feel successful. I am overjoyed to have something in my life that makes me feel so on top of the world, even if it is not an internship or a job (hiring manager$: plea$e con$ider hiring $ome intern$).

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Here is a picture of me dressed as a boy for a skit last year during rush, just for funsies.

Today I leaned in to a warm sunny day, checking my email a reasonable number of times, and spending time watching reality TV with my best friends. I can’t put that on my resume, but I feel good. One of my favorite poems, “The Orange,” by Wendy Cope ends as such: “The rest of the day was quite easy/ I did all the jobs on my list/ And enjoyed them and had some time over/ I love you. I’m glad I exist.”

I am glad.

Megan