At the end of my last interview, I asked the hiring manager when I would next hear from him.
He looked at his calendar, then asked me to call him in two-and-a-half weeks.
At first I thought I could handle it. Then I thought it might be best to buy a bunch of board games to keep me preoccupied. The days dragged by. I repeatedly hit refresh. I wondered if it was possible to die from anticipation.
During this stretch, I found my patience — and nerves — wearing thin. I was called out for being a snot to coworkers. My boyfriend asked me to stop blankly staring at him. Apparently it freaks him out. The cats, however, blankly stare back at me, then demand that I stop stealing their game.
I found myself daydreaming about turning in my resignation. Giving two weeks notice, then going home to pop the bubbly. Just as my eyes start to get a bit bleary, I pinch myself. The reality is that I don’t have the job yet, and I don’t want to count my proverbial chickens.
All the waiting has taken my mind down a dark path. At moments the anxiety creeps up, and I start to replay the interview in slow-mo, dissecting every curveball question and awkward answer. My mind starts playing tricks on me, I sense I’m on the losing end of a sudden-death game. Now I want a do-over; I bang my head against the wall demanding to know why I came off looking so unsure of myself.
Suddenly I want to throw myself on the floor, and beg for mercy. “It was my first in-person interview in six years!!!” I want to scream out. It doesn’t matter that I now know how I would answer each one of his questions. It doesn’t matter that nerves got the best of me. The moment has passed, and I have to live with the outcome.
There is no second chance. All I can do is cross my fingers, and go into tomorrow’s meeting with my head held high. I’m pretty sure I did much better than I’m allowing myself to believe. I gave it my all. And if that wasn’t good enough, I know there’s always another opportunity on the horizon.
I’m just getting started.