In my last blog of this ilk–written almost four months ago–I was debating whether or not to flood the office of a national newspaper editor with peanuts in the hope that he’d think I was quirky and amazing and hire me on the spot. Sure, it all sounds questionable now, but as I said then: it’s really hard to know what is fucking stupid and what is totally genius when it comes to industrial sized quantities of salted nuts.
I ended up shelving the peanut plan and sent him an email asking if he’d meet with me and dole out some advice. He very kindly agreed, and although I spent most of that afternoon quietly bricking it at my desk while trying to soothe myself with cat gifs, I was sort of glad I went with the normal route as opposed to one that, while original, had a far greater chance of resulting in death. No, he didn’t magically promote me to queen of the newspaper, but it’s always helpful to pick the brains of people who do a similar thing to you – just successfully.
After spending six weeks at the paper, I sort of explored my options for a bit before realising that I didn’t really have many/any options. I was still very much against doing a journalism postgraduate course mainly because almost every journalist I know doesn’t have one, and also because I feel as though these courses price people who can’t afford yet another degree out of the industry, which really benefits no one. I applied to a few jobs here and there until one afternoon, in a pre-Beyoncé concert induced high, I ended up spontaneously booking a flight to New York. I’ve been desperate to move back there ever since I left at Christmas, and decided I may as well head back for a holiday as I could crash with friends and perhaps casually find an American guy to marry me for a Green Card. You just never know.
Going back was probably a little misjudged as when I returned, I had an even bigger case of the post-NYC blues than the last time. That, coupled with a failed meet-up with someone I used to see there who I was sure would be on board with the Green Card marriage shebang led me to devise some fairly ridiculous schemes about how I could get a visa, but I eventually opted to put them on hold–for the short term at least–and try and explore some less potentially felonious routes.
I then got through to the final round of a few jobs I didn’t particularly want–after submitting thousands of words of application materials, I might add–and thought maybe I should just try and have of these stable lives people keep talking about. But they went fairly disastrously for a number of reasons, mostly involving me being sent to the wrong part of town by the iPhone map app or going off on tangents because I’d been up until 4am writing articles I actually felt strongly about.
In a pity motivated move I’m sure they now regret, my parents offered to pay me to paint their house while they were away. In spite of the regular Dulux rainfalls my eyes were on the receiving end of (there is little horror quite like roller-ing a ceiling), this actually gave me a bit of time to pause the frenzied job applications and just write a few bits here and there. I also began spending a large portion of my time singing ‘Life’ by Des’ree (lyrics being ‘Life, oh life! Oh life. Oh life. Do do do do’) because it sort of seemed to sum everything up. Des’ree really is a criminally under-appreciated genius.
Anyway, I then spotted an opportunity to get involved with a startup for the summer, thinking I’d intern there for a few months before toddling off to do a journalism postgrad course in September. But in typical life fashion, I got offered an internship at a global news org within my first few hours of starting – which began the following week. As is always the way in journalism/life, there’s always calm before storm. Although in this case, the storm was actually just choosing between two good things. So basically it wasn’t really like a storm in any way. Forget about the storm.
In spite of my horrible reneging-ness, Benji (who’s heading up the super amazing startup which you can read all about here) was incredibly nice and helpful to me during my week there, and while I dare say there’ll be a lot less 90s garage in my new role, I’m sure it’ll be rewarding in different ways. I also get a bit of paid holiday during the three months I’m there which is possibly the greatest thing to ever happen to me in the entire existence of life, and much better than receiving payment in the form of a solitary pizza slice in the newsroom on a Tuesday evening like one of my other internships. I don’t even like pizza.
Overall, things have been pretty unpredictable since I graduated last July, and interning/freelancing can undoubtedly be very confusing. But it has also afforded me a lot of really exciting opportunities over the past twelve months – and for that, it’s been entirely worth it.