When I was growing up and it came time to get a summer job my objectives were clear and simple. I wanted to work somewhere laid back with cool people, flexible hours, in close proximity to my friends’ respective summer jobs. Bonus points if I could score a new bathing suit or free lunch with my employee discount.

Recently the job search has got me feeling more like a middle-age bachelor trying to nab a mate before her biological clock strikes midnight. I apply to anything that has Academic, Account, Activist, Administrative, Advertising, Advocacy, Assistant, Associate, and Art in the header— and those are just the A’s. I write calculated cover letters exuding confidence, highlighting skills, professing desires. Ten days later, I reiterate my enthusiasm with a follow-up.

I currently have a job, a respectable position that satisfies me almost exclusively monetarily— waitress. Sure I’d rather be on the creative team of an ad agency or working to promote literacy for a non-profit, but things could be worse— and I’m not even twenty-five, so why the sense of urgency?

Tomorrow I will dress up in my Anne Taylor bests and try not to fall in a snow bank on my way to Midtown to interview for a position that is unlikely to satisfy my creative appetite. While mentally scrolling through my career objectives hoping to find something that relates to the position at hand, I began to wonder what the hell I am looking for anymore.

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