I’m worried

Hunting for jobs is a ridiculously laborious process and soul-destroying at its heart.

During a recent phone interview, I told a recruiter, while explaining this was the first time I had to look for a job in 12 years, it felt what I can only imagine is how it would be if I was to suddenly become single again.

Trying to tell people what they want to hear. Portraying a version of yourself which is truthful, but also hides any negatives.

Looking for someone to give you a chance. Knowing that once they meet you in person, you have more of a chance to show you are the right person for the role.

Being married never felt better.

My aim after finishing at Football Whispers was to work in social media. Wanting to test myself in the industry. Take the skills I’ve picked up and apply them in a new role.

I know I can do it, I know I can learn and adapt. Just need a chance.

A law firm interview went well, but they went with two candidates who had more of a law background. Disappointing, but fair.

A face-to-face interview with a recruitment company went really well — so I thought — until I got an email from the social media intern…

WHO I WOULD HAVE BEEN RESPONSIBLE FOR!!!!

…to tell me I hadn’t been successful in receiving a second interview.

Then when I asked for feedback, I was told I was marked down for, wait for it, wearing a suit.

Yes, I saw on their company Insta they all dressed down. Forgive me for trying to impress. Apparently, it did the opposite. Probably the equivalent of talking about Bebo on a first date.

Sadly, the job search had reached the point I hoped it never would.

Three words.

Customer. Service. Advisor.

A job I know I can do. I was always good at it, but that was over 10 years ago.

Even applying was upsetting. Thoughts of me becoming the 50-year-old worker you see in call centres and you wonder what has gone wrong. Hoping you never become them. They are the force which drives you to better things.

I was worried.

Phone interviews went well. Smashing through them, all these recruitment firms telling me I had ‘a great C.V’.

Not fucking great enough.

Maybe it was a good thing, but our pending holiday in New York stopped me receiving roles in a couple of call centres.

Then, last week, I got an interview for a company who are experts in smart data. The job was labelled as ‘Service Desk Analyst’.

It wasn’t a call centre, you are not talking to the public. I went for it, I nailed the assessment day, and I got the job.

Not the area I ever thought I would go into, but it’s something new, it’s intriguing and I’m looking forward to learning more and seeing where it might take me.

Is it what I want to do? No. Am I delighted to have something lined up?

Do I have the money to last until the start date and my first full pay? No.

I’m still going to pursue a career in social media and have continued to look for roles. I have also considered a couple of other options to help go in that direction.

Plus, a talk with a friend last week gave me the belief I could work on another project. Something which would be a lot of fun and something totally different. Somewhat going back to the days of writing being a hobby rather than being paid for something. (More on that when it happens.)

The past few weeks have been weird. Watching people you know flourish. Being proud of them, but being massively jealous at the same time. It’s pride mixed with a tremendously demoralising fear.

What if I hadn’t taken the writing role at Football Whispers?

Would I still be a French football expert?

Would I still actually enjoy watching football?

Maybe I’d have a job at The Athletic… Maybe Neil Custis and I would be cursing their successful launch together.

I tend not to have regrets in life. Everything happens for a reason.

Yet, here I am, wondering what could have happened. Where would my career have taken me? What doors would have opened? Would all paths still have led here?

The same day I had the interview with the recruitment company and subsequently heard back from the intern, I was contacted by Arsenal to write a piece on their new signing, Nicolas Pépé.

I went home, smashed out an enjoyable — and hopefully interesting — article on a player I loved watching.

There I was, at work at a bar, earning £8.25 an hour, picking hand towels off a toilet floor, seeing the official Arsenal account tweeting out my piece.

Life is fucking weird. Life is very humbling.

I worked my arse off that weekend and earned more money in one hour writing about a football player than I did on the shift.

Then you start thinking — ‘maybe I should get back into football writing’

But, then you remember you’ve not watched Ligue 1 properly for 18 months and you would be lying to yourself and the people you are trying to convince.

Maybe somewhere down the line as I go back to watching more regularly. Maybe I won’t.

I have seven weeks until I have a full-time job again.

Who knows what the future will hold.

I’m still worried. Just not as much as I was last week.