–Joni Mitchell

I am, at long last, back on my bullshit.

If it wasn’t exceedingly obvious, I was in a dark place the last time I wrote here. I’d been searching for a full-time job in one of my fields (broadly, nonprofit communications, fundraising, and event planning) for going on two years. I’d had a couple part-time jobs and some gig work, but I was determined to find not just A Job but The Right Job. However, 21 months and only a handful of interviews later (three of which went to the last round, which was encouraging but also crushingly disappointing), I was at the end of my rope and nearly ready to give up.

For a while, it felt like no matter how I showed up in New Orleans, regardless of the situation, whether social or work-related, I always got it a little bit wrong. In Shreveport, I was too liberal, too quirky, too mouthy, too “out there,” but here I felt too provincial, too on-point, too eager.

Always too much but never enough.

To wit: One of my bosses at one of the part-time jobs critiqued me quite harshly because I “[asked] too many questions” during training. Yes, I’m completely serious.

(But nobody wants to work nowadays, dontcha know?)

Anyway, one day in late June during my daily job search, I saw a description for a job that sounded (to me) NOTHING like the kind of job I was looking for. But I was, at that point, truly desperate, so I applied anyway. To my utter shock, a recruiter called right away, and I got an interview.

Walking in the door of the place, even for a JOB INTERVIEW, was nevertheless the most comfortable I’d felt since moving to New Orleans in July of 2023. Needless to say, I found my people. It would seem I most often hit the bullseyes I’m not aiming for.

Of course, I can’t say here what, exactly, it is. (The Shreveport Moms for Liberty hate group doxxed me twice, and that was when I was married to a man.) But do y’all remember when I told you some of my big, audacious goals? This job is a fucking BEELINE toward one of them.

My boss and I have an interesting dynamic. I don’t want to say anything identifying about her, just that she is world-class-level good at her job and, accordingly, holds very, VERY high standards for both of us. She’s kind, but she’s pretty much all business, which, in my experience, is typical of high achievers. I know a few of my coworkers wondered, not at all unkindly, whether or not I’d make it past the first three months because the intensity is too high for some. And, frankly, after the last three years, I wasn’t 100 percent sure when I started if I could handle it or even if I was ready to try.

As I’ve told you all ad nauseum, dance was the biggest part of my life for 15 years. In the end, I’m glad for it – dance, more than anything, has made me who I am – but it was hard, psychologically speaking. I was determined to do well in ballet, but I wasn’t built for it – my feet are flat, for god’s sake – and so persisting meant facing heavy criticism on a near-daily basis. In order to survive hearing things like “YOU HAVE HIPS LIKE COW” several times per week (sometimes per day) with your psyche somewhat intact, you have to accept that, even though criticism like that is intensely personal, it’s really not about you, boo-boo. It’s about the work. Do you think ballet instructors care about or even notice everyone’s hips? Absolutely not, because their hips like cow ain’t tryna to be in a ballet.

If anything prepared me for dance, it was my dad. Prior to an oddly but fortunately personality-improving stroke in 2013, I rarely saw him anything but stressed, irritated, mean, and/or enraged. The one time – ONE – that my mother and I ever saw him laugh pre-stroke is practically Phelan family legend.

(For anyone wondering, it was Tim Conway on The Carol Burnett Show. The dentist sketch, the one where he ends up injecting himself in the head with Novocain.)

Dad was all about the work, too, but he wasn’t disciplined enough to keep his criticism confined to the task at hand. When he felt you failed him, which, in my case, was consistently and constantly, he would not hesitate to weaponize your greatest pains and insecurities. As a prime example, I once signed a document on the wrong line, and he used the opportunity not to emphasize the importance of attention to detail but rather to taunt me cruelly about a past failed relationship. With him, it wasn’t about the work, it was indeed all about YOU and what was wrong with YOU and how his life was but a struggle simply to endure YOU. To survive that, you again have to realize the six-foot ape standing in front of you, screaming, a) looks ridiculous, b) is thoughtlessly squandering loyalty, time, talent, and energy, and c) is probably clinically unhinged. Despite his incessant roaring to the contrary, it still wasn’t about me. It was all about him.

Life really began for me when I started realizing how little other people’s behavior reflects anything other than what’s happening inside them at the moment. Even when they TELL you it’s about you, it’s still mostly about what’s going on with them.

Unlike ballet or my dad, the steady, underlying drumbeat with my boss isn’t, “We both know you can’t do this, but I’m going to stand here regally and smirk as you flop around hopelessly.” With her, it’s “This is not good enough because I know you can do it better. Here’s some stuff to help you. Now do it again. It’s good enough when it’s perfect, and it’ll never be perfect because it can always be better.”

I can’t say whether or not all of you hear the difference, but I know the dancers do.

So this job, which was intended to provide money, a career path, professional contacts, and hopefully a few like-minded friends, has actually ended up doing all that and more plus healing me in ways I couldn’t have expected. YES, I can do this, and YES, I can do it better than I did it yesterday, and YES, I will do it again and again and again because it’s good enough when it’s perfect, and that’s the work. And if I’ve learned anything in 48 years of life, it’s that hard work, professionalism, and consistency will get you everywhere.

(Unless, of course, flat feet thwart you.)

The first time I stepped off the elevator onto the floor where I work, there was a sign that read, “It’s hard to beat a person who never gives up.” It was just one more signpost, if you will, that I was in the right place. I pass that sign several times a day, and every time I do, I make myself read it again.

I’m really happy I finally found The Right Job, but let’s face it, in 2025, I’m elated and beyond lucky to have a full-time job, period. And as someone who was all too recently swimming in the job-hunt cesspool, trust me that if you’re still looking for a job, it really, truly, honestly isn’t you; there are just too damn many people job-searching right now. I’ve been working since 1996, and this is by FAR the worst job market I’ve ever seen (or ever hope to). Remember that job descriptions are just that – someone’s best attempt at describing the role for which you’re applying. But you can’t possibly know what it’s really like until you get in there and talk to the people who’ll be doing the job with you. So take some chances. You might be pleasantly surprised.

Developing deeper roots in the community has made me love New Orleans even more. It’s nice to have finally found a niche in which I can add value to something. I’m meeting a lot of new people and learning more about the city. In the midst of a country in turmoil, I value the eccentricity of this place more than ever. For many, it’s a respite, but I’m lucky that it’s my place in the world.

I think I’m finally home.