It’s currently 11:51am on Tuesday 3 February, and today I feel sad. Not profoundly sad, but sad all the same.
I’ve spoken a little about my dream job — yesterday, I received a personal email from the contact person I’d been speaking with throughout the process. She said she knew how much I wanted to work at the centre and that my application had initially been shortlisted, but I didn’t progress through to the interview stage. She recommended using the STAR method for future cover letters and advised that I would also be receiving a generic email confirming that I was unsuccessful.
Initially, I thought it was really kind of her to reach out personally, and I sent her the following response:
Dear Anonymous,
Thank you very much for your email.
I think the centre is an incredibly special space, and I’m deeply passionate about its role as both a cultural hub and a place that promotes curiosity and possibility. While I’m disappointed that my application didn’t progress further, I’m a big believer that everything happens for a reason, and I’m grateful to have been considered.
It has been a long-standing goal of mine to work or volunteer at the centre, and I will certainly continue to keep an eye out for any future opportunities.
Thank you again for taking the time to provide such thoughtful feedback — I really appreciate it.
Take care 😀
Kind regards,
Me
But thinking about it now, it wasn’t as nice as I first thought. She could have given me a chance and progressed me to an interview. I’m not suggesting I’m any better than any other candidate, but I have 29 years of experience in customer service and I really wanted that job.
Yesterday I said it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I didn’t get it, but now that it’s no longer an option, I realise just how much I really did want it.
I actually wish the contact person hadn’t tried to soften the blow like that. Why can’t anyone just look me in the eye and say, you didn’t get the job — you weren’t good enough, period.
It’s funny, I talk about looking for opportunities in the future, but it doesn’t really work like that. It’s like dating — what are the odds that you’re single at the same time as someone you like? Employment feels the same. What are the odds that I’ll be unemployed and looking for work the next time the centre is recruiting?
That sounds a little ridiculous when I write it down, given that I haven’t worked in the past ten years and am now thinking seriously about self-employment, so I probably won’t even be looking for work the next time they recruit. But still, not getting the job at the centre felt like the end of a dream.
I have to let it go, and once I do, I know I’ll be okay. To make myself feel better, I ordered some creaming soda via Uber Eats. It arrived warm, so I put it straight into the freezer. In a little while it will be ice cold, and I’ll pour myself a bubbling, fizzy glass. I know that will make me feel good.
Not getting the job at the centre has made me think about something my mother often says about me — that I go over the top. That I’m too enthusiastic, too full on. She’s probably right. I do tend to go over the top.
I’ve been wondering whether I was too keen for this job. Sometimes I think I need to rein myself in, and that’s not an unreasonable thought. Most of the time in life, you don’t need to push so hard. If you’re authentic and genuine, people usually take you seriously without all the extra effort.
But at the same time, if I’m being honest about who I am, I care deeply about the things I care about. I like being excited. I like being immersed. I want to make conceptual work that is layered, repetitive, and complicated. That instinct — to go all in — is part of how I move through the world.
Maybe the challenge isn’t to stop going over the top entirely, but to learn where that energy belongs. Some spaces want restraint. Others want commitment. I’m still working out the difference.
While I’m feeling a bit sad, lost, and vulnerable, I’ve been thinking about my rebel God, Jesus. I used to be quite critical of Jesus, but over the past year or so I’ve found real comfort in Jesus the man — not necessarily the Christ.
At one point I had the idea of going to see a medium and asking them to make contact with Jesus so I could ask him a series of questions. Any medium worth their salt should, in theory, be able to make contact with Jesus, but I quickly realised how easy it would be for a medium to simply perform Jesus for me. I would also need to be very clear that I was seeking insight from a deceased historical figure, not the Son of God — or God, depending on how you look at him.
I realised that the medium route probably wasn’t the most practical or meaningful way to draw inspiration from Jesus. So instead, I’ve been revisiting the wisdom he shared during his short life as a revolutionary figure in Roman-occupied Palestine.
I liked it when he said:
“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
— Gospel of Matthew 6:21
It feels like what he was really trying to say is that what you prioritise — what you give your attention and your time to — ultimately shapes what you become.
But something else Jesus said in the Gospel of Matthew made me want nothing more than to lie down beside the man and let him hold me while I slept.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
— Gospel of Matthew 11:28 (NIV)
I would love to meet someone like Jesus. Even someone pretending to be Jesus would work. Just that unconditional, gentle, humble heart.
This line actually reminds me of something Pope Francis once said. He fell asleep during a Mass and a journalist later called him out on it. Pope Francis explained that it was like falling asleep in the arms of his Father — meaning God — and he went on to speak about the feeling of safety that comes with that kind of trust.
I’m wondering if I should just surrender myself to the love of Jesus. I do have questions about the whole Son of God, or God himself, idea. But Jesus was so good. I think he was with women, and I think the Catholic Church introduced celibacy to stop wives from having claims to church property or assets.
I feel like talking to a Catholic priest, but if I’m honest, most of them scare me.
Speaking of the Catholic Church, I had an idea for a piece of conceptual artwork. I would attend Catholic Mass at the cathedral in town every single day for one whole month. The objective of the project would be to see whether repetition and immersion in the Catholic Church, through daily attendance at Mass, could make a non-believer believe.
Over the course of the month, I would document a specific set of criteria: what was said during each Mass, what was said about Jesus, how many people were there, and any patterns that emerged over time. I would also collect physical items from the experience — candles, Mass programs, and other material traces — as part of the work.
I know I’ve just said that I want to lie down next to Jesus and let him hold me while I sleep. I want Jesus the man to do that — I’m still not sure I believe he is a deity. I may believe he lives on another planet, and I’m only half joking when I say that.
But I would genuinely love to undertake a project like this and present the findings as a piece of art. Because it is art. It allows the viewer to see the world through a different lens — and isn’t that what art is meant to do?
The only issue I have with this investigation is that it feels a little dark. The method is dark, the subject is dark, and really the question shouldn’t be whether daily attendance at Mass could make a non-believer believe.
The real question is whether the daily good intentions of the Catholic Church can compensate for the fact that, in my view, it operates like a criminal organisation.
But that’s getting too close to an opinion for my liking, and I’m ditching opinions for a while.
On a totally unrelated matter, I’ve decided I want a globe of the world. Not a cheap or flimsy one — a beautiful globe that I can put on my bedside table and look at all the places I want to travel to before I go to sleep each night. My ideal globe would light up. I saw a few like that at the Australian Geographic shop when they were still in the Myer Centre — they aren’t there anymore — and I regret not buying one at the time.
Whether I end up with a job or a grant, a globe will be the first thing I buy when I have some extra money. I literally want to see the world.
