Somewhere Isn’t Just Anywhere: Waxing Poetical on the Job Hunt Experience

Image: “Cheshire Cat in the Tree Above Alice,” hand-colored proof by John Tenniel (1820–1914). 19th-century illustration. Public domain. Sourced via The Morgan Library & Museum: www.themorgan.org/prints/item/250313

In Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, there’s a moment when Alice first meets the Cheshire Cat. Most people remember it for the line, “We’re all mad here.” But the beginning of that conversation has always held my attention a little more. It goes something like this:

Alice – Cheshire Puss, do you know which way I ought to go from here?

Cheshire Cat – That depends a great deal on where you want to get to.

Alice – I don’t care much where I get to.

Cheshire Cat – Then it doesn’t matter which way you walk, does it?

Alice – So long as I get somewhere!

Cheshire Cat – Oh, you’re sure to do that... if you walk long enough.

Let me tell you what: that conversation perfectly describes what job hunting has been like for me my entire life.

I have never been one of those people who gets jobs thrown at them left and right. No inboxes full of interview invitations. No recruiters vying for my attention. Just a long walk through the woods, punctuated by crickets and “thanks but no thanks” to break things up a bit.

It started early. I remember trying to get a part-time job at Dairy Queen after high school. I knew they were hiring. I knew three girls younger than I was who had gotten jobs there.

I’m still waiting to hear back on that application.

I admit, more than once I have succumbed to defeatism. I’ve listened to the whispers of doubt that say overqualified and underexperienced. I’ve shrunk to fit into underemployment, and I’ve outgrown positions that started as a good fit. I’ve taken breaks, detours, and the occasional vacation. But when all’s said and done, I get back up and start walking again.

Because I understand that Somewhere isn’t just anywhere; it’s an actual destination.

So I will go down the rabbit hole, swim through a puddle of tears, rescue the baby that turns into a pig, sit down with the Hatter and the Hare, and listen to the Dormouse tell a story about drawing treacle out of a treacle well. Eventually, there will be a tiny key to a tiny door that I won’t have to shrink to fit through. And when I go through that beautiful door, I’ll be in that lovely garden called Somewhere.

P.S. As I went through editing this post, it occurs to me that while waxing poetical, there may be some confusion about Somewhere. To be clear, I am speaking about Somewhere in terms of an actual job that I actually get and love—on this plane of existence. Not heaven.