Skip to main content

Hope in an Envelope

Three furlough days per month with the possibility of four or a 5% pay cut, and the possibility of layoffs to boot – it’s enough to make you say “enough.”

And so I have.

I didn’t think I’d be in the job market this soon, especially in a recession. But I have to assess my options. I have to see if what I’m working with in terms of experience and qualifications will command a better wage and a better position.

It was different when I was single and young and apartment-dwelling with time on my hands for my 401(k) to rebound. But now I’m married and middle-aged with a mortgage and a 401(k) that’s down 29%, up from being down 65% earlier this year, mind you. I have responsibilities not only to my husband, but to creditors and to my older self when I’m no longer able or willing to work.

I have to assess my options.

BMNB thinks I’m crazy to continue to subsidize the State of California through my lower state worker wages. He thinks I need to chuck it and work, as he does, for “a government that prints its own money.”

My sister thinks I need to ride it out. “If you just wait, this will eventually get better.”

I don’t think I have the luxury of time. Plus, at the risk of sounding elitist, I’ve invested far more time and money into my so-called “human capital” than most. Fours years of college, three of law school, and year and a half of graduate school.

And I’m still paying for that investment. I need to make it pay off in a way that is not only remunerative, but fulfilling for the rest of the time I’m healthy and working. I don’t want to look for another job after this. I thought I was done with job hunting. I wanted this to be my last job before retirement.

I have to assess my options.

So I ran across a job announcement for a really cool position in a really cool place far from home.

“But it’s so far away,” I whined to BMNB. “I did that commute before. I don’t know if I can do it again.”

“If you like the job, just apply for it and let’s see what happens.” BMNB always sees the positive side of things whenever I’m involved. He’s envisioning telecommuting, flexible hours, meetings by webcam, etc. I’m envisioning listening to people snore on the train and the smell of coffee-laced executive drool emanating from my seatmate at 4:45 am.

“I don’t know what it pays,” I thought to myself. However, the description sounded exciting, even fun. Like a big, fat perfect career pitch you’ve been waiting for at the home plate of your life. And everything I’ve done so far appears to have prepared me for the position.

So I did it. I sent a resume (with a summary section – it’s been more than a minute since I’ve revised my resume), cover letter, articles I’ve written, and one article written about me.

Call it hope in an envelope.

Just the act of putting myself out there – even if it’s for a position I’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of getting in this economy – gave me hope. Because I know in my heart what BMNB says to me all the time: If you take one step, God will take two.


Popular posts from this blog

When You Leave The Ghetto, Don't Bring It With You

NBA player Gilbert Arenas brings a gun to an NBA locker room. NBA player Ron Artest lets his pit bulls run wild and free in Loomis, California while playing for the Sacramento Kings. NFL player Michael Vick did time for fighting dogs. And NFL player Plaxico Burress is doing time for shooting his damn self.

What do all these men have in common? BMNB would say an inability to make a profound paradigm shift. I’m less eloquent than BMNB is, so I’ll say it differently: The inability to leave the ghetto behind.

Yes, call me saditty, bourgie, elitist, stuck-up, whatever. I don’t care. Until you’ve had a tweaker ruin your Thanksgiving turkey, you don’t even know (more on that later), and I’m not trying to hear you.

Living in Western Placer County, my husband and I continue to hear stories from folks like us who had to flee “those who can’t leave the ghetto behind.” You know these people, and they come in all races. In our case, we had returned to Sacramento in 2004 and 2005, respective…

Hillary Clinton Can Stop Trump -- If She Releases Her Electors

Hillary Clinton isn't going to be President of the United States.  At least not yet.  And not in 2017.

But she can possibly stop Donald Trump from being President by releasing her pledged electors  in the Electoral College to vote for a compromise Republican candidate.

This is part of the strategy of the Hamilton Electors, members of the Electoral College who see that Donald Trump is not qualified to be President.  They argue that the Electoral College's role is not to rubber-stamp the popular vote -- which, in this case, would belong to Clinton -- but to serve as a check on the popular vote to make sure that no one who is unfit assumes the office of President.

According to the Hamilton Electors, named for Founding Father Alexander Hamilton (Yes, he of the very popular musical for which I can't get tickets) Hamilton stated that the Electoral College's test for fitness to be the President was as follows (and I'm quoting):

Election of a Qualified Person: As Hamilton s…

Malia's Hair is Off Limits! So is Sasha's!

I read a snippet of a New York Times article in which there was criticism of the hairstyle Malia Obama wore to Italy. Twists, to be precise. Said twists were criticized as not befitting someone representing the United States abroad.

Hold up. Slow your roll, America. You don't get a say in this. Neither Malia nor Sasha "chose" to represent the United States in any way, shape, or form. And their hair, and how they wear it, is off limits. Back the eff off.

I was hotter than a hornet reading this. The whole black woman's hair thing? That's personal with me. We black women have more than enough issues and neuroses about our hair and how we wear it. It is not open to debate within wider circles, especially when there's a child involved. The choices we have, other than wearing our hair in its natural state in twists, dreads, braids, cornrows or afros, are painful -- chemical relaxers, also called "creamy crack," and searing hot straightening combs. If Malia …