we will all make it happen in the end

There’s an over-caffeinated person eating a chocolate Moon Pie in the corner of the Artifact dining space. She’s submitted an application for a remote Social Media Manager position to a furniture company based in Detroit. There’s tension and stress and she has thirty minutes before her current location is closed for the evening.

It took her three hours to submit the application. It started with updating her resume which led to updating her LinkedIn profile which led to a hunt for content to add to each job description which led to writing a new cover letter. What was supposed to be a simple submission followed by time for personal writing and relaxation turned into a mini-marathon of intense deliberation.

A resume shouldn’t be two pages. Will bullet points be enough to encapsulate years of skill development and personal reflection and academic accomplishment? Of course not. But she only has one page so she’ll make the font smaller and hope that it isn’t too noticeable.

Not to mention the case of imposter syndrome that’s been infecting her brain for the past few weeks. She thinks she’s underqualified despite the years of experience and the Bachelor’s degree. After all, she’s only twenty-two. What does she know?

Then the small voice creeps in that asks her if she even wants the role. Her personal social media presence has been experiencing a drought and she isn’t yearning to become an influencer any time soon. But she misses the yearning feeling to create for the sake of making and sharing, and social media is great for that.

So there’s an interest there: a longing to stay connected somehow to people who are miles away. She sees the people on her feed sharing little vignettes of their lives in beautiful ways. It’s possible! There’s hope there.

Twenty minutes to go. She’s trying to have a brief spark of creative flow before returning to life again. She reminds herself that this application is not the only one. There will be other opportunities and she’s not in a rush.

Fifteen minutes now. An urgency. This simple exercise is starting to feel poetically performative which wasn’t its original intention. Here we are. If anything, it’s a cry for relatability. It’s a yearning for someone to reach out and say, “It has to work out!” Because it does, and she forgets that.

Ten minutes now. She’s heading out now with time to spare. It’s the consideration and thought that’s brought her to this moment and it’s the same values that she now leaves with. The day is coming to a close and there will be another very soon.

WE WILL ALL MAKE IT HAPPEN IN THE END

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