I’ve been back in the United States for just under three months and have joined the ranks of (what seems to be) millions of young people looking for jobs.
There have been cover letters, resume re-writes and hundreds of cups of coffee, sipped at a rotation of coffee shops in the greater Cleveland area. I was warned it would take time, so I’m not getting frustrated with the lack of success. In fact, I’m expecting rejection within the vast impersonal world of job boards in the inter-webs.
The things that are causing the most uncomfort are not knowing:
a.) what I want to be when I grow up
b.) where to live out this next great adventure
In a way, part of it is mourning the loss of my little European exsistance. This weekend, in New Orleans (more on that later), in the colorful hallways of ‘India Hostel’, I found a band of les francais as I searched for contact solution. And interestingly enough, it was the flow of French that made me feel like a piece of me was home.