I don’t have a resume. In fact, I haven’t had one for 20+ years, so how can I be sure I actually exist? Even before I was self-employed, my resume was spotty with some awkward gaps. Ten years as a stay-at-home mother. Another five going to college while a single mother. A degree and my first real job at age 33. A slow start with a meteoric rise with a publishing company. A brief stint with a software company. A bad breakup and an illogical move to a faraway state. Making ends meet as a liquor store clerk, glorified chambermaid in an inn, incompetent waitress and so on until I started the improbable venture of creating a magazine from scratch. When I was the publisher of my own magazine, I occasionally thought I should update my resume. Then I lost my old one and the dates of the various phases in my job history became hazy in my mind. Sometimes I would be asked to submit a bio, but rarely did I need to document all the ups, downs and dates of my so-called career path. The longer I went without one, the more I resisted it — until the thought of assembling one became almost painful. As if I would have to relive the hardscrabble years of single motherhood, the insecurity of being an older student in graduate school competing with kids from Harvard, Yale and Ivy-whatevers, the guilt of neglecting my kids while focusing on my shiny Big Job, the regret of relationships that never had wings, the constant self-doubt around people whose accomplishments far outweighed mine. I’ve always had the niggling feeling that I’ve cobbled together a life without benefit of schematics or instructions, and a resume only reinforces that. Now that I’m back to working part-time as a writer and consultant (whatever that is), it seems even more daunting to sit down and fill in the back story of Me. It would undoubtedly be reassuring to be able to look at a list of orderly career stages neatly dated and documented with action words (Created, Led, Developed, Initiated). A linear map of my life. Instead, I have a rambling story of work interrupted by dead ends and detours, rest stops and road-side attractions and long intervals of just being lost. It’s more akin to a kid’s treasure map or a visual resumé than an adult’s career bio, but I doubt the board seat I’d like to apply for would accept a CV drawn on a napkin with a crayon.
Archive for March, 2015
March 16th, 2015