Disappointed Dreams & Employment During The Recession

I come from an incredibly hardworking family. My parents immigrated here for a life that was better than their hometown in Mexico could provide, and since their arrival, they have slaved away in factories. They taught my brothers and I to work hard and value education so we didn’t have to live like they did. Thanks to this, my older brother and I both have graduate degrees and my little brother will soon be attending college.

I received my MFA in Creative Writing in May of 2010. I knew that this was not a lucrative degree, but I have been set on being a writer since I was twelve. Throughout my pursuit of higher education, I always believed that if I worked hard, I would be rewarded. After all, my scholarships, publication record, professors, and other accolades all validated me. Of course I would find a good job after I graduated!

I never had unrealistic career expectations. I didn’t think I would make it big as a writer at such a young age or that I would be able to teach creative writing at a university without having published a book first. I didn’t think I would be as lucky as that awful lady from Julie and Julia or get a job at the poetry factory. No, no, I was not that foolish. But I thought that I would at least be able to teach at a community college or work at a low-paying non-profit where I would get to work with troubled and sassy kids from the ‘hood — something along those lines. After all, my grades were impeccable and I had years of teaching experience.

Who wouldn’t want to hire me?

Well, it turns out that no one really wants to. Since I graduated, I have been working at a job that I would say is the opposite of everything I ever studied, and in many ways, the opposite of everything I’ve ever wanted. After dozens upon dozens of snubbed applications, I begin to wonder if I’ve done something wrong in life. Sometimes it feels like a bad phase of dating, “Why won’t they call me back? Why don’t they like me? What more do they want in a person?!” I try to network. I ask friends and acquaintances if they have any leads. I apply to jobs all over the country. I’ve even considered changing my “ethnic” last name on resume just to see what happens. I’ve tried everything and if nothing happens in the next few months, I’m moving abroad to pursue teaching opportunities. Sayonara!

I know that it can be worse. I can be jobless like millions of Americans. I remind myself of that every day as I walk glumly to work in the morning, sometimes I tell myself the following: “At least you’re not a refugee. At least you have insurance. At least you’re not a sex worker. At least you’re not that dude on the median trying to lure customers to Little Caesars.” And though my parents are sympathetic, I feel like a total turd complaining to them about my corporate ennui and existential crises. I get paid a dignified salary and get to sit in a chair all day. I tell myself to stop being a whiny brat. I also know that there are many people who would gladly clobber me with a sack of potatoes for my job, so I do it well.

But I do feel like I’m part of a generation of disgruntled young people. It feels like we graduated at the absolute worst time possible. I know so many people my age that are just as frustrated as I am. We feel let down. We feel like our efforts have been in vain. I’m not naive enough to expect to have my dream job at the age of 27, but I was not at all prepared for how difficult it was going to be to find a job even vaguely related to my experience and education. Even a career as a carny would be more relevant.

But I’m trying to be patient. I’m trying to focus on how well my writing is going. After all, I’m stubborn, persistent, and have my parents’ indefatigable work ethic, so it’s just a matter of time. But every day I can’t help but wonder when exactly things are going to change, not just for me, but for those who are really struggling.