So, How Long Is YOUR Resumé?

I probably have you beat…

From the time I was a little girl I was motivated to earn money. When I was 5 years-old my family spent the summer in Fire Island and my playmates and I were tasked with the important work of finding beach glass in the sand by the ocean. Our parents paid us different amounts based on how rare the color of the glass was. Orange was the most rare and paid a whole dollar, turquoise and red got 25¢, cobalt blue 10¢, green 5¢, and brown and white glass only rated a penny.

Back in the day, when there were no plastic bottles, there was an abundance of beach glass. Our folks proudly displayed their collections in large clear glass jars on coffee tables and book shelves of the beach houses we occupied. They were pretty competitive about who had more of the less-seen colors so we kids made some serious cash.

I’ve been earning since childhood. I liked making my own money, so I could buy things I wanted like candy and books. It gave me a feeling of independence, of self-sufficiency. I love when people say “No one’s had more jobs than I’ve had,” because I chuckle to myself, thinking what silly people! Because truly, NO ONE has had more jobs than I’ve had.

When I was a kid I created jobs for myself whenever I wanted to make some money. One day, as a 9-year-old, I decided I wanted to be in the greeting card business. I pulled out my crayons and markers and hand-drew cards that I then sold door-to-door in my suburban neighborhood. Our neighbors were very kind. They were indulgent of my forays into whatever cottage industry I’d think up. When I’d tired of greeting cards, and switched to baking, I made the rounds, cupcakes and cookies in tow. I made a tray, with a strap to go around my neck to carry my wares, like the ones cigarette girls in nightclubs used in the movies. I babysat, cleaned houses, and offered story hour in my backyard on Saturday afternoons. All the little kids in the ‘hood would show up, dollar in hand for a dose of Madeline, Max, then Horton and a few Whos. The parents loved me. I had a bit of a Mary Poppins complex, I’m proud to admit.

There were all kinds of gigs in junior high and high school. I worked at a local print shop doing paste-up and layout way before there were digital solutions. X-ACTO knives, rubber cement, kneaded gray erasers, and T-squares were the tools of the trade.

I worked in the ladies locker room at the local country club, cleaning golf shoes, and making and re-making beds in the little private rooms, so the ladies who lunched could take afternoon naps, and sober up a little before going home to make dinner for their families.

Still a teenager, I taught silversmithing at the day camp I went to as younger kid. I taught myself calligraphy so I could make money addressing bar/bat mitzvah and wedding invites. I worked as a clown and mime, performing at local libraries with a friend from camp. We cleaned up! The more I earned, the more I wanted to earn.

I have many feelings, mixed feelings, about my job history. I’ve always had tremendous curiosity. I love to learn, and I’m a self-starter, an autodidact. I’d bop from one thing to another until I learned enough, or earned enough to satisfy my desire. I’m proud of that aspect of my personality. But there’s another side. A side I tended to focus on with more than a little self-criticism.

That part is more about the embarrassment I felt because I’d jumped from job to job to job over the course of most of my life. I liked to try jobs on, but I’d get to a point where I’d stop, say I was bored, and move on. Sometimes it wasn’t boredom, though. Sometimes it was because to be really good at something, I’d have to make a commitment to a job, to a path that had to be earned by putting in time. But I wanted things like success to come easily and instantly. I labeled myself confused and unstable. I came to think of myself as a quitter.

I dropped out of college after one semester. I didn’t think I had what it took and I had no idea what or who I wanted to be. What I did know was that I wanted to be an adult already, out in the world. I wanted to work and play and earn. I didn’t want to write papers and do homework. I wanted to find something that I loved to do and the idea of more school was something I couldn’t deal with at the time. I was an impatient young person with no connection to my mortality. So I impetuously left school, and joined the work force. I was going to find the shortcut to my future that no else had ever discovered. Hmmm.

In my 20s, I worked in magazine publishing in production and sales. I worked as an administrative assistant in Family Court in lower Manhattan. My boss was Judy Sheindlin, before she became “Judge Judy.” Judge Judy hated that I’d dropped out of college. Sometimes, she’d walk by my desk and smack me on the back of my head and scold, “You’re too smart for this. Go back to school. Or you can clerk for me for 7 years, and then you can sit for the bar exam.” 7 years sounded like eternity, and no way did I want to be a lawyer. And yes, she was exactly who you’ve seen on TV. Tough. Outspoken and just the slightest bit mean. I loved working for her because she wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone.

After that job, and a couple of nanny positions, I did a brief stint as a drug mule…but only part-time. Or maybe that was more of a hobby…okay, I exaggerate. I was an errand girl for the publishing company where I worked. Cut me some slack, it was the 80s and coke was expensive.

I waitressed at some of the best restaurants in Manhattan. I worked at NYU. I sold pet bling at a trendy dog grooming shop in the West Village. I went to school and became a massage therapist. I sold diet products (multi-level marketing, of course), was a cabinetmaker’s apprentice, sold cheese, and was a makeup artist at the Prescriptives counter at Macy’s Herald Square. If you worked at Macy’s you had to march in the Thanksgiving Day parade, so I did that too. I gave house-call haircuts (without a license–don’t tell), I sold real estate, I taught yoga. I was an HIV educator at Planned Parenthood. Most of my time there was spent teaching teenage boys that no, they probably didn’t need the MAGNUM-sized condoms just yet. I was a proud bookseller at a number of different bookstores, which was probably my favorite job of all.

At last count, I’ve had at least 80 jobs in my working life. It took me years to figure out the thing I wanted to do. I knew the answer all along but wasn’t paying close attention. I wanted to be a creative. To write, to make art. But I had given up on the dreams I had as a child before I ever gave myself a chance to try. Until I got to my 50s.

I wanted something new to do so I volunteered to learn to work on a website for a local non-profit. It satisfied something in me––a love for attention to detail––so I began to teach myself how to do more. I thought maybe I could start a small business making simple websites for people in my community. I wanted to do graphic design, too. I knew that I’d regret it if I didn’t at least try. That decision turned out well for me. I’ve had my own design company for 13 years. It’s the longest job I’ve ever had. It’s been fun and it has sustained me.

And now here I am, doing something I REALLY always wanted to do. I am writing and making art. My life has been made rich because of all the different jobs I’ve had. I know a little about a lot of things. I know a lot about some things. This makes me happy. I’ve stopped beating myself up about my wandering, and started to celebrate my wondering. Everything I’ve done has led me home. Life comes full circle. It’s so very sweet.  

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