The universal experience of disappointment
Crying in paradise
(The following is a pre-ramble to some sad and frustrated poems below. If you just want the poems, scroll down.)
The struggle to write in an authentic way about the frustrations of looking for work, while simultaneously looking for work
This Friday I’m going to be talking on a panel about how I carved out a creative career. It’s a particularly interesting time to be going on said panel as multiple things have happened in my work life this year that indicate Alex’s career is not going up, it is going sideways or maybe even down! Now more than ever I am looking for new opportunities, particularly beyond Newcastle (yes, paradise).
This year I have gone through a variety of not ideal job situations including not getting jobs, losing clients and being on the wrong end of some hard-hitting budget cuts. Every hustler and entrepreneur will tell you that failure is part of the process, and I’m prepared to battle on, but here’s a weird Alex thing: my creativity is fairly linked to my real world experience. Maybe everyone’s is?! When institutions, financial downturns, flawed people and policies disappoint me, I can’t just sit on my hands, my hands must typey type type poems, thoughts and opinions about my tragic, first world problems. I do strongly advise waiting 24 hours plus to respond to anyone who upsets you, and definitely don’t post your resignation letter on Substack at 3 in the morning, which I did consider. Some rage and emotions are not meant to be shared with anyone other than the people you really trust. But despite my fear and worry of offending people, I do believe my experience with disappointment in the work force is actually universal and perhaps when I write about professional challenges, it might resonate with many people.
The struggle to write authentically, period.
Recently a woman in town whom I respect and admire was having a chat with me at a function. She first recognized me from my Instagram and said “I want your life!”
It made me pause. It is not the first time someone has commented on my idyllic, joyful Instagram life. I’m well aware that I know how to not only have fun, but also broadcast it. I also know I live on the coast of one of the richest countries on earth, a country that compared to almost all other places, is incredibly safe, equal, generous and beautiful. I’m lucky to be here, and it’s unbecoming to complain.
I doubt this woman has a life all that different to mine, and maybe I might want her life too. But also, how we’re seen and how we feel are very different things sometimes.
I dream of leaving social media and instead dedicating my time to readers that value substance over aesthetic. (You must be out there!) But with the desire to be a writer of something deeper than news articles and quick content comes strong feelings of worry. Being authentic and unabashedly yourself is to be judged, disagreed with and worst of all, abandoned. I few years ago I shared some “mean” poems that were well received, but my honesty, raw emotion and negativity could still come back to bite me. Once you put something out there, it never goes away.
To write things that resonate, you have to be quite vulnerable, and I know several fantastic writers who have decided to limit themselves based on this very reason.
The personal struggle of letting people see an ugly side
My whole life I have been known as happy, bubbly Alex. I have written about this strength/weakness before, and I use this trait to my advantage careerwise. But I worry that the main reason I get work opportunities has less to do with anything other than I just make people feel good when I’m around them. My partner can’t stand to see me when I’m quiet and sad. From family to friends to coworkers, people seeing me upset is like announcing a death in the community. (I swear I’m not that dramatic either!) People who think of me a bundle of rainbows and sunshine have a hard time digesting the idea that I have a side that’s quiet, deflated and teary. I’m a great people person most of the time, but all humans are allowed to be reactive, sad, emotional, angry and plenty of other bad adjectives and feelings. I am of no obligation to bring anyone joy 24-7, and maybe as I try to build a career beyond my mostly charming personality, I should worry less about the happy Alex reputation.
With all that being said, I now present to you some sad, grumpy, complaining poems I’ve written related to searching for work, feeling stuck, feeling judged, feeling underestimated, feeling misunderstood and more. If this doesn’t do it for you, please come to the panel on Friday, I’m sure you’ll see a more likeable side.
Here’s a James Baldwin quote to back me up if this Substack flops or worse.
Poems, thoughts and words on the above, below:
Things aren’t really all that bad.
But, also,
Fuck you!
I’m allowed to feel sad.
Whenever you get upset about something, ask yourself, "am I basing this on the belief that life is fair?"
Convincing yourself
You didn't want to leave, really
You're absolutely happy with your current situation
Customer service
Counting your blessings
Another utopian summer of sparkles
with $5 Brut from Moneypenny and
shenanigans galore
You will go to the beach this season
You will swim in the sea like never before
You will relish strolling home without fear on the occasional Saturday morning at 2am
You will talk to strangers, bartenders and baristas
Think of the lazy afternoons and harbor dolphins
Think of the sunset yoga on your rooftop
All the events you've yet to invent
All the parties you've left to partake
Even when things are getting you down
You are crying in paradise, this seaside town
I'm terribly sorry
but your inclusion application
has been rejected.
You didn't quite use
the exclusive language
we require
for all hires.
What is it without a label?
I have become a street artist.
My identity shrouded.
My tag illegible and legitimate.
This town hates me, it loves me.
I enrage store owners.
Titillate the teens.
I'm out here in night air.
No rules, no artists statements.
No one can judge my spray and strokes
for anything other than what they see.
I dance on art's last threshold,
the only place left
where I am free
to be me.
Fuck you! I’m allowed to feel sad.
🙌🏼🙌🏼🙌🏼
I loved this Alex