Softer Than a Kitten, and You Don't Know the Life of a Job Seeker, Babe

"And you're never gonna wanna."

Truer words were never spoken...and yet...

Taylor's newest album was released on October 3, 2025, and I found myself singing along, just entering two months at my new job after deciding to leave my hectic but stable teaching career. I was observing some red flags but enjoying consistent paychecks.

I thought that it would be okay, at first. The situation could be saved, of course. But I may have girl-bossed too close to the sun, and I may have asked a question only a man could, or brought a tiny violin to a knife fight. Good thing I like my career cancelled? Hmmm, not sure that one works.

Because the truth is that I like my career to be stable. I like it fulfilling, fast-paced, and creative. Myself and other creatives or comms or marketing folks may have matching scars, but "cancelled" isn't necessarily an option if you aren't touring the globe as one of the most successful solo artists of all time. Would be cool, though.

Either way, the friendship was ruined. I swore my loyalty to me, myself, and I, so I find myself dancing through the lightning and wishing on a falling star. Send a resumé here. Click "easy apply" there. Interact with a recruiter on LinkedIn and wonder if they're even a real human being or perhaps a bot that's giving my phone number to scammers. I am "activating the network," as my father would advise. I've got Zoom and Teams calls and coffee dates out the wazzoo. Generally, we're knocking on wood, honey (but not like that - you pervert). I'm just acknowledging that a little bit of luck can go a long way.

I realize, as I type outside the local coffee shop in November, that if you aren't nonstop listening to "The Life of a Showgirl," then this is a weird blog post. An exit ramp here if you're not a Swiftie or haven't heard the album. But the metaphors still resonate and stick.

In a few months (shorter, if I can help it), I'll see it was just kismet. But at the moment, it feels like the more that you play, the more that you pay. Hunting for a new job or a new career and praying for a chance just grates at your soul a little bit. One morning you may meet with a connection and come away so inspired to keep going, to try something new, or be validated in your talents and experiences. Another afternoon, you're staring at the Google Sheet where you record all the places and jobs you applied to, and you can literally scroll for pages; the list is so long, and you kind of want to lie down and just stop. You feel a bit left for dead and you lament, "I just want to make my money being pretty and witty – gah!"

Over time, you start to feel sweeter than a peach and softer than a kitten, and you wonder if you'll get a taste of the magnificent life. But take those pearls of wisdom (you know, from all those network dates you go on), and wear them around your neck. Let 'em take a skate on the newly formed ice inside your veins and keep going, because now you know the life of the job seeker, babe.

If you're like me, you have been afflicted by a terminal uniqueness.

I'm authentically me, and I can't turn it off. I can get overwhelmed, of course, and I've got a mortgage to pay. But I keep it one hundred. I've always been afraid to break out on my own. To share my stuff. And I mean to really share it. To publish something, to submit to a magazine, to cold-call an organization and confidently promise that I can solve their branding problem. To produce an enticing short-form video that will deliver ROI. To actually write that novel I've kept quietly in my mind since I was 19. To shout from the rooftop, "I am talented, dammit!" To believe, truly, that I can employ myself, and it'll all work out.

In this country, we're almost encouraged to break out like that. I've never actually sat down and done the math, and I've probably never actually priced my value and my talents accurately to make a serious living off of what I can do. I don't think I'm a failure, but I struggle to be the godfather figure - independently earning cash with the robust suit-and-tie energy of the ambitious go-getter. Heavily ingrained within me is the Midwest meekness and politeness of a capable protegé. I don't drink that brown liquor (I frequently get headaches, so I'm not drinking any liquor). I don't make deals with the devil (I was raised Catholic). My dick is certainly not bigger (metaphorical or otherwise).

I'm not a bad bitch, and I'm not savage. I'm built for the boots-on-the-ground grunt teamwork.

I love rolling up my sleeves. I love to learn. I write, I photograph, I video, I animate, I teach, I coach, I edit, I lead projects, I brainstorm, I socialize, I create community, I mentor, I execute, I say the quiet part out loud. I do the damn thing, and I'm honest about how it can get done.

I've thought about being my own boss, but that feels like a long, dark onyx night. There are dangerous lightning strikes there that I'd rather not dance through. I'd rather pledge allegiance to a hand, a team – a vibe.

"This is just a temporary speed bump, but failure brings you freedom."

For now, I've got a Wi$h Li$t. Occasionally, I'm in the underworld and it gets quite dark. I am waiting by the office door packed in with the application hounds, barking at the AI that reads our cover letters, then glowing like the screen of a laptop at night. I'm immortal now, baby dolls, and one day I'll say,

"Hey. Thank you for the chai latte. I'm married to the hustle, and now I know the life of the employed, babe. Wouldn't have it any other way."