Rec
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In June of 2023 I quit my job as a news producer after two years. I had a “mini retirement“ or whatever name it has now before it was trendy. I didn’t quietly quiet. I literally quit. I’ve written poems, won awards for poems, worked on my novel, abandoned my novel, come back to my novel, solo traveled, slept in, got into block printing, planted a garden, gone to concerts, tried to untangle the knot of anxiety inside of me, helped take care of my grandparents, done yoga, read books, watched movies. Now I need a job again. I want to do something I’m proud of. I want to keep this life I’ve cultivated outside of the traditional career. I’m terrified I will never be hired, that I’ve tarnished after these two years of living. Somehow doing the very things we’re on earth to do — create, try, experience — has hindered me. This fear is only being validated with every rejection letter in my inbox. It seems that I’m asking for too much. I don’t care that I’m young. The scope I’m looking through may be narrow but it’s all that I have.
Apr 18, 2025
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I’m reentering the job world after eight months off (abruptly left my museum job in August). The job market is tough right now, so hang tight, keep applying, you will land the right thing. It might take longer than you want but you will get what you want.
Apr 18, 2025
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i’ve worked in the arts for my entire career, mainly in art museums. i’m also an independent curator and ran a gallery out of my storefront apartment for a year and a half. i’ve archived photographs, led museum tours, curated exhibitions, couriered art across the country in an 18-wheeler, written wall texts, edited books, interviewed artists, fundraised, done countless studio visits, written exhibition essays, provided accessibility for disabled visitors, built a curatorial practice around working with disabled artists, project managed performances, and participated as a performer in a couple of pieces (including a Tino Sehgal).
i am immensely proud of my work and have done and seen some incredible things. i’ve also worked with incredible passionate people who have the privilege and honor of making culture. but I’m also very burnt out and currently in the midst of plotting a departure from the art world, in search of a job that provides more balance. my whole job as a “museum worker” has been my identity for 14 years and I’m curious to see what my life looks like next. i’m mediating on and grappling with the idea that we weren’t put on this planet to labor, which compounded with the effects of lockdown and the pandemic, has changed my relationship to work and having a linear career. life is too short and too precious to give all of ourselves to a job (hope that doesn’t make me sound far out or too radical).
right now I’m working with a career coach, doing informational interviews, playing with my resume and cover letter formats, and applying for a wild array of non-art / non-museum jobs. I’d love to hear if you have any insights or suggestions! it’s scary making the leap but I’m trusting my gut here.
i am immensely proud of my work and have done and seen some incredible things. i’ve also worked with incredible passionate people who have the privilege and honor of making culture. but I’m also very burnt out and currently in the midst of plotting a departure from the art world, in search of a job that provides more balance. my whole job as a “museum worker” has been my identity for 14 years and I’m curious to see what my life looks like next. i’m mediating on and grappling with the idea that we weren’t put on this planet to labor, which compounded with the effects of lockdown and the pandemic, has changed my relationship to work and having a linear career. life is too short and too precious to give all of ourselves to a job (hope that doesn’t make me sound far out or too radical).
right now I’m working with a career coach, doing informational interviews, playing with my resume and cover letter formats, and applying for a wild array of non-art / non-museum jobs. I’d love to hear if you have any insights or suggestions! it’s scary making the leap but I’m trusting my gut here.
Feb 15, 2025
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☠️Is there anything more fucking soul crushing than job hunting? Endlessly putting yourself out there, weighing up whether you are good enough for a role or not, waiting for a reply that never comes…
I’m at the point where I hope for rejections, they are better than no reply and usually you get some kind or reason.
I’ve never been a career person so when I finished uni I was at a complete loss. Finally found a job I love and want to make my career but it pays so poorly I can’t stay afloat and I’ll probably have to give it up.
I’ve never been a career person so when I finished uni I was at a complete loss. Finally found a job I love and want to make my career but it pays so poorly I can’t stay afloat and I’ll probably have to give it up.
Jul 9, 2025
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😑I know it's not an option for most of us and we have to make money to survive but I just really don't wanna do anything!
I quit my job like a month back. I was not enjoying the work I was doing and the pay was shitt. I thought I would develop some new skills and try switching fields and get into like marketing or something. So I started studying about it and tried developing new hobbies but nothing really worked for me. The last couple of weeks I've just scrolled through Instagram and just sleep and waste my time in general. I started applying for the same job again cause I was just feeling lost and bored and anxious and other things. Yesterday I got a call for an interview and now all I can think about is how much I don't wanna do anything. I don't mind working but I really wanna do something I like and I'm passionate about and I have no clue what that is🥲
I quit my job like a month back. I was not enjoying the work I was doing and the pay was shitt. I thought I would develop some new skills and try switching fields and get into like marketing or something. So I started studying about it and tried developing new hobbies but nothing really worked for me. The last couple of weeks I've just scrolled through Instagram and just sleep and waste my time in general. I started applying for the same job again cause I was just feeling lost and bored and anxious and other things. Yesterday I got a call for an interview and now all I can think about is how much I don't wanna do anything. I don't mind working but I really wanna do something I like and I'm passionate about and I have no clue what that is🥲
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Back in April I went to the PNW for 11 days solo! This trip pushed me and taught me so much about myself. I did a bunch of hiking even though before this I wouldn’t have called myself a hiker. Driving through remote areas with poor reception forced me to trust myself. I loved the solitude and nature and who I became on this trip. I also got 2 tattoos (my first!!) and worked through my fear of needles! I’m tougher than I think.
Dec 27, 2024
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🍦My grandparents owned an ice cream shop for 35 years. In the early days they sold sandwiches too, before moving to just ice cream. At one point when my dad was an adolescent, they actually lived above their shop. My grandma would dream up flavors and my grandpa would make them — he's lactose intolerant, he never really even reaped the one benefit of owning an ice cream shop. My grandparents, dad, aunt, great aunts and uncles, second cousins, and even my mom all worked fairs and festivals scooping ice cream. It was a family business, my grandma and grandpa were the core. They had to change locations twice. They "retired" at least once before actually retiring. This ice cream shop was an institution.
For me though it was the place where we would have Thanksgiving. Closed for the season, the shop was the only space big enough for all of us. I had birthday parties there as a baby. It was our first stop after a five hour drive across state lines to see family. That's the place where, at my grandpa's insistence, I wrote my initials into the wet cement he had laid down for a bike rack. They are still there. When I was 16, I worked at the shop over the summer. You don't realize how tough it is. Decades of dipping had made my grandpa particular. I didn't have the wrist strength or the speed necessary when there were customers out the door, all of them hungry and agitated by the stifling heat. I was terrified of giving someone back the wrong amount of change. Becoming almost paralyzed by the responsibility of being behind the cash register — it was their livelihood after all. That was my grandma's responsibility. I was in charge of the milkshakes and malts. I decorated sundaes with hot fudge, wet walnuts, sprinkles, and cherries. I packed the shaved ice into paper cones and doused the evenly shaped mounds with syrup. I doled out the frozen lemonade into styrofoam cups. My hands became raw from all the cleaning. I'm now particular about hygiene in the kitchen and always tip.
My grandparents still own the building, renting it out to a dentist and coincidentally, an ice cream shop. It's so strange now to go there. Everything is entirely different while being exactly the same. They painted the chairs a different color, but they are still those heart-shaped wrought iron, poorly cushioned chairs I know from childhood. Some of the flavors have remained. But it's not the same. Maybe they're buying their heavy cream from a different supplier. Or the high schoolers who work behind the counter aren't as precise with the measurements. I can try, skipping the artisanal flavors for the ones I grew up eating, but it will never be the same as it was.
And that's alright. They're softer now, my grandparents; the anxieties and stress of those decades having melted away. These days, ice cream is just ice cream.
For me though it was the place where we would have Thanksgiving. Closed for the season, the shop was the only space big enough for all of us. I had birthday parties there as a baby. It was our first stop after a five hour drive across state lines to see family. That's the place where, at my grandpa's insistence, I wrote my initials into the wet cement he had laid down for a bike rack. They are still there. When I was 16, I worked at the shop over the summer. You don't realize how tough it is. Decades of dipping had made my grandpa particular. I didn't have the wrist strength or the speed necessary when there were customers out the door, all of them hungry and agitated by the stifling heat. I was terrified of giving someone back the wrong amount of change. Becoming almost paralyzed by the responsibility of being behind the cash register — it was their livelihood after all. That was my grandma's responsibility. I was in charge of the milkshakes and malts. I decorated sundaes with hot fudge, wet walnuts, sprinkles, and cherries. I packed the shaved ice into paper cones and doused the evenly shaped mounds with syrup. I doled out the frozen lemonade into styrofoam cups. My hands became raw from all the cleaning. I'm now particular about hygiene in the kitchen and always tip.
My grandparents still own the building, renting it out to a dentist and coincidentally, an ice cream shop. It's so strange now to go there. Everything is entirely different while being exactly the same. They painted the chairs a different color, but they are still those heart-shaped wrought iron, poorly cushioned chairs I know from childhood. Some of the flavors have remained. But it's not the same. Maybe they're buying their heavy cream from a different supplier. Or the high schoolers who work behind the counter aren't as precise with the measurements. I can try, skipping the artisanal flavors for the ones I grew up eating, but it will never be the same as it was.
And that's alright. They're softer now, my grandparents; the anxieties and stress of those decades having melted away. These days, ice cream is just ice cream.
Dec 30, 2024
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