Do What You're Good At
Life advice, and how it's applied to me.
I’ve been out of steady work for about 2 years. I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong. I’ve never had a stretch like this where I can’t even seem to wrangle a proper interview. Never in my past have I exhausted my unemployment benefits between jobs. I’ve always been able to adjust my resume to meet the demands of the hiring market before the insurance ran out, whether that be W2 employment or contract work. But this time is different. It’s as if I’m applying to jobs with nothing but 20 years of asbestos manufacturing on my resume.
I’ve always tweaked my resume some to match the jobs I’m going for. Director has changed to Editor has changed to Producer, depending on the listing. This time, I’ve made so many desperate tweaks to my resume, I don’t even know who I am, or what I’ve accomplished, anymore. After failing for months looking for roles that matched my past job titles, I’ve killed all mention of leadership roles on my CV hoping to land even a low-paying entry level position. Anything to get my foot in the door. Once I’m in front of you, responding to your questions, having a candid conversation, it’s hard not to hire me. I’m all charm. But, I need the interview to work my magic. And there seems to be a firewall between applying and interviewing I’ve never dealt with. I’ve sent dozens of resume versions to hundreds of job listings. But the A.I. robot-screeners aren’t interested in what I have to offer. I am Forest Gump looking for a seat on the bus, “Not welcome.”
I lost my job in 2023 while I was wrapping up a bankruptcy that coincided with my divorce and a failed family business. Like a fuck-up hat trick, it all slammed down upon me at once. Which is perfect timing. No need to draw the misery out. Take the knockout and prep for the next fight. You don’t wanna lose a job right in the middle of things going good. You want to fall flat on your face, and hard, to knock out whatever delusions of hope still remain in your brain so you can make sound decisions based in reality, in theory. In practice, having everything fall apart, all at once, doesn’t just destroy your hope, it slowly drains your confidence, self esteem, and desire to live. It’s taken 25 months of slow oozing, but my brain is finally there: empty and numb with nothing left in it beyond dread. The ego has shrunken to half the size of a hydrogen atom. There are no plans for a future left in there.
Compounding with the divorce/bankruptcy/unemployment, were 3 deaths in my family over the same time span: a brother, an uncle, and a grandpa. Three generations I’d turned to for emotional support in the past, checked out. Two of them died young - and in a position not too dissimilar from my current position. At the moment, it feels like they were the lucky ones. They were able to duck out of this scramble to survive. No more responsibilities they can’t afford. No more legal issues. No more collections. No more rejection. Nothing. If I can’t figure out how to make my circumstances change, I’ll be joining them sooner than later. Which, I’ve heard, would be bad for my kids.
My kids might be why I’m in this position. Their mother moved them back to California from Texas. Like a hero, I followed with no job lined up. You gotta be there for your kids, right? But, what benefit to his children is a man that can’t support himself? Sure, I love them and encourage them. I read to them, attend their sports and performances, and do all the free, emotionally uplifting, shows of support they say kids need to flourish. It’s the kind of encouragement I had. The kind that motivated me to finish college, write, start a business, reach for more. And yet, here I am! Destitute. I can offer my children words right now. It’s all I can afford. But, what good is that even? Do you trust the words of people who can’t survive without handouts? What a state to find myself in.
The scariest part is not knowing what to do. I’m on a raft in the middle of the ocean. It’s all saltwater as far as I can see I have no idea what direction to row, and the sun is setting, and the sharks are circling. I’ve asked others for guidance, people who’ve been in similar circumstances and didn’t commit suicide (the dead ones are harder to get on the phone). “Do what you’re good at,” has been the consensus response. After 25 months of rejection, I’m not sure what that is anymore. Many of my technical skills have been replaced by A.I. And creative skills are subjective. I do know what I’m not good at: securing job interviews. That skill has vanished; along with landing a kick flip and singing falsetto. I am no longer capable.
I am currently surviving only because of the good grace of the limited few who somehow still believe in me. Thank god for delusional people, huh? But their patience is (understandably) wearing thin. I’ve sold everything of value I have just to keep enough gas in my car to visit my kids. I can’t even afford to live somewhere they can stay a weekend with me right now. I’m staying in a soon-to-be condemned house that has a reverse mortgage on it. Sleeping in my dead uncle’s bed. When the flat-broke 91 year old owner dies, I have six months to vacate myself and all the decades of accumulated treasures here. I am ostensibly homeless in all aspects beyond physical appearance (I do still shave and shower).
When I was growing up, I was told “Get a degree. It doesn’t matter what you study. Get a degree.” And that has proven to be useless advice. Nobody asks to see your film degree, even if it’s from an accredited college. “You can teach,” they said. But I can’t. I have neither the temperament, nor desire, to be around children who are not my own. I wouldn’t want someone who doesn’t wanna be there teaching my kids. Would you? I’ve had those teachers. They do more harm than good. And it’s not like teaching just requires a bachelor’s degree of whatever type. You need to be credentialed as well. Which is more school, which costs time and money, for a job I am neither interested in, nor qualified for. When I point these realities out, they’re waved off as excuses. “Just change your attitude.” I do not understand this. Nobody says “They make good money in the NBA. You should do that.” Because they know it’s ridiculous. I have no interest (or capability) to play professional basketball. I’ve never even played on a recreational level. But for some reason “You could teach” sounds completely reasonable. I can’t teach any more than I can slam dunk.
For 20 years, my degree was a non-factor. It collected dust while I went from an assistant editor straight out of college to professional comedian/writer to an in-demand content producer who started and ran teams for start-ups and major publishers. There was a time when I was being poached for my growth hacking services and so my resume has a lot of job changes. Nobody cared about the job changes, then. Working in video production has a lot of ups and downs. Start-ups fail, companies are sold, shows go on hiatus, managers move on and their replacements bring in their own guys. These things happen a lot in professional content production. Vanna White might be the only person in the industry who ever had real job security.
Until my 40’s, I’d never been on the losing end of life for any real stretch of time. Everything seemed to work in the direction I wanted it to all the way up until I was fired from my Creative Director role in November 2023. I never got rich, but my income and savings both went up more often than down. I had cool jobs and a comfortable life, until I didn’t. It wasn’t always easy. I had to work harder at times to secure income. I’ve had employment gaps that lasted a few months in the past, never through three Christmases though. This year will be the first my kids get nothing from me. I have to live with that reality, and it sucks.
I know I’m not alone. So there’s solace in that. For whatever reason. Chalk it up to misery loves company, I guess. It’s not a good time to be looking for work. I see other lost, confused, men. Men with decades of experience and better, college degrees than I have, frequent the Recruiting Hell and Job Search subreddits. I don’t see as many women making similar posts. Women don’t have to look just for a job, they can also look for a man with a job, a white knight, a Captain Save-a-hoe who can cover their bills. I might have to explore homosexuality just to make it to 50.
So, I’m writing. This post isn’t about some sob story. It’s about personal accountability. Writers write. They don’t perfect resumes. This post sucks. But most writing does. Even from your favorites. I’ll be treating this Substack like an open mic until it’s worth paying for. I don’t expect to gain any subscribers from this post, only to personally improve my skillset and develop the muscles it takes to keep putting words together in interesting ways. I am doing it for the exercise. I need something to do other than toss my resume into the digital wishing well that is the online job search process, or I might die from rejection. People have paid for my writing in the past. It’s something I’ve been good at. They say to do what you’re good at. Maybe, if I post enough, I’ll improve to the point where they will again. If that doesn’t happen, at least my kids will have some idea of who I was.