Job hunting is a huge emotional rollercoaster for me, something I wouldn’t wish on anyone else. I know that it is meant to be depressing and hard work but my problem with it is quite specific. I always like to know exactly what the next month or year of my life has in store. Not in too much detail but I want to know the general shape of things to come.
Having a bit too much of an imagination means that with every job I apply for I imagine myself in the role and get quite excited. Even when it’s not a job I particularly want I still imagine it as being my future. So then when the inevitable rejection letter comes it feels like someone has ruined my plans and shaken up my entire future. I always have too much hope which means the blow puts me in a bad mood, even if it’s a job I didn’t particularly want, and sometimes those are the worst, you think ‘if I can’t get something I don’t want, how will I ever get something I do want’. And there you are at the beginning of the cycle again applying for four or five jobs a day before you wait for another flow of rejections.
It isn’t a very pleasant way to be living and I really hope this transitory period is nearly over, plus it would be really nice to spend a tenner without having to think long and hard about whether I can afford it.
In my nine months of travel returning home and reintegrating was the single hardest thing I’ve done. It’s not something you expect to be so tough, everyone says about a culture shock but I don’t really understand that because of course I know what England is like, I’ve lived there for 24 years so the culture doesn’t shock me it’s just the mentality and habits of a day to day basis, which I suppose could be considered culture but on the same ways I visited cities abroad I could see the charm in places here. England was, basically, exactly how I had left it. The only problem was that I wasn’t.
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After travelling for five months or so now I’ve really got in the swing of moving from place to place and keeping my bags as packed as I can, all the time knowing I still have months to go. I knew roughly when I would be going home(after about two months of travel anyway), that it would be just before Easter for some family engagements and guaranteed good British food to compensate for the lack of a Sunday Roast or Christmas Dinner all winter. Or ‘winter’ as I should say.
But today I booked the flight home and now there’s a set date and I know its final so now I’m panicking and looking at all the places I still need to squeeze in before I leave and it suddenly seems like time is so short despite still having over 3 months, and a third of my journey, left. Read More »