A few weeks ago a neighbor asked me if we could go out to coffee so that she could pick my brain about her job search. Normally, my answer for job-related feedback and insight is that it costs more than coffee, but in this case I was intrigued that a neighbor outside of my industry wanted my perspective, and also, since watching Only Murders in the Building I’m doing my best to be neighborly. Not because I’m afraid of being murdered, but because I’m afraid of being left out of the motley crew of amateur sleuths.
How do you make decisions about the generosity of your time?
My counter offer was to meet for a walk, which I do essentially every day in service of keeping my ticker ticking and feeding the insatiable beast of my fitness app. This is my time to listen to books and catch up with friends and swashbucklers, but a reasonable slot of time to generously feedback.
If we’ve met, you know that I have literally no idea what adults actually do for a living. If your job is not pictured in Richard Scarry’s books, I have no clue what you do ‘at work’ (and if it is, I believe you are a literal fox in coveralls). Of course, I do still have opinions on the matter…
My neighbor presented her circumstances and asked for my thoughts about her LinkedIn profile, asking if it represented who she was and what she brought to the table.
Because we were walking, I did not immediately have a Richard Scarry book handy, and so I vamped in lieu of the adequate resource.
“Let me pause you. What exactly are you looking for?” I asked.
In order to protect the innocent (who don’t know I’m likely to write about any and every social encounter I ever have), I’ll skip the content of her response.
Vague salad was her reply.
Something like “well, something that pays, and could be here or anywhere, online or not or hybrid. I’ve done [these things] in the past…”
Jackpot for the Kwinn. Take a seat, Mr. Scarry.
“It sounds like you’re unclear about what you’re looking for.” I interjected.
More vague salad.
“Would you like my advice?”
YES
“Get very specific about your dream job. So very specific that you could tell me - the woman who is very clearly not within your industry - in something like a haiku, or an elevator pitch. Try again. What do you know about what you want?”
F*cking VAGUE SALALALALALALALALLALDDDDDD.
We did not land on anything specific, but it was my invitation to her as we departed. Not that she would find the thing, but that if she wasn’t clear on the thing it would be hard to articulate it to potential interviewers, or random neighbors. And then it would be hard for me to help.
While I have no clue what people actually do, as a yoga teacher (bunny in leg warmers) I am often at the intersection or the epicenter of intersection of industry. It means I cross paths with people, and listen, and sometimes connect them, even if I’m categorically unclear about what the heck a civil engineer does (other than wear a monocle and a top hat, possibly while nibbling carrots with their short furry arms).
If you cannot explain it to me, I cannot pass it along. It just rots on the vine.
In weeks later, she crossed paths with my person and I and told me she was working on her manifesting, which is lovely and not in any way what I am recommending.
Just to be so clear. Feel free to use magazines and Pinterest to locate the narrative of what you are looking for. Then get it dialed. Then tell the people. All the people. The way I show my bellybutton* to literally everyone I cross paths with. Manifesting might be the word you use, but the procedure is as I have suggested. If you’re sitting in your closet with magazines or Instagram considering horses on the beach that is an adorable hobby and it is not indeed part of a balanced breakfast when charting your life’s course.
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