Sometimes, some days, I find myself sitting with other bright faced young people of a similar age, wearing my Vietsuit- my finest piece of clothing, a simple suit tailored for me in Vietnam, a fact which says almost enough about my lack of general haughty couture- and awaiting some kind of assessment. Interviews. Tests. Networking sessions. In these times, I feel an old skin slipping on. -Yes, this is me, too- I think. Amongst my many skins, sides, facets, personalities, timescales. This is me, too. The competent and hopeful bright graduate. Because I sometimes I was. And sometimes I end up in these right seeming places where, surely, I was meant to be.
Sometimes I have great interviews. I build a good rapport with my interviewer. I am never short of things to say in response to questions. I smile, genuinely, with effervescence that is not born from desperate energy. I feel quiet marvel at how I actually believe in the usefulness of my past experience. Sometimes.
I think in all my life, not counting purely written applications, I have only once gotten through an interview for a job as a first-choice candidate.
One thing I learned from a recent assessment day is that… well. I occupy an unusual and profound niche of uselessness, being a good, earnest person who always did well at school. One of my great problems is one I can’t seem to shake, I’ve always let myself be so convinced it’s a good thing.
It’s like when, for my final project for my Graphics GCSE, instead of making a basic model playground, I made the biggest model playground the school had ever seen, with four differently themed zones with scaled and specialised themed equipment to match each zone, as well as a central raised seating area. I remember a succession of days staying up till 2am every night to get the thing finished. Indeed, at the expense of the accompanying paperwork.
It’s like how, for my teaching assessment, I built lifelike squishy models of heart and blood vessels to use as props in the classroom. Clingfilm and paint over balloons and rubber.
It’s like how, volunteering at the RS, I edited together what I thought the RS should want, not just what they asked for. It took ages.
It’s like how most of my art is. Obsessively impassioned, usually overdone.
Like most of my reflections on what to do and choices to make. Asking so, so, ridiculously much.
My big flaw is that I have too much foolish ambition and not enough restraint. I overdo any creative project in my hands. I feel lost trying to think how to change this.
I did not assess well enough at the centre. -This is not you-
I was turned down for a great science education related opportunity. -You did great, but there was someone else more preferable-
At least I have a job still.
But I feel terribly… terrible.