So, as if 2011 hadn’t already been a year of upheaval for me (putting self back together after end of marriage, selling house, 3.5 months of homelessness begun with a 12 week leave of absence spent globe wandering, moving into new condo . . . and that was just January to September!) I recently decided to complete “operation turn my entire life upside down” by finding a new job.

Well, sort of.

See, I’m a govie.  More specifically, a policy analyst with the federal department of health.  My job is permanent.  Well, that it to say it’s backed by a handy collective agreement negotiated by a union and that these two facts combined make it sort of hard to fire me.  Not the kind of position you leave easily.  So, I’m not really looking for a new job, so much as a new posting in a different federal department.

Sounds complicated, but up until recently it would have been totally easy peasy lemon squeezy.  See, because it’s so much easier to hire analysts already in permanent positions than from the outside (we’ve got the right skills and experience, no need to run a formal competition), I am not at all unique in being able to say I’ve turned down many a job offer from people in other departments since joining the federal government in 2006.

And then came the economic downturn (boo!)  And then stimulus funding (yeh!)  And then deficit fighting (sigh.  I guess . . .)  End result: job offers of yesteryear are but a distant memory.

And what does all this coincide with?  Why v’s return to from her leave of absence and decision to find a new gig, of course.

So the last couple of weeks I had to face more rejection than a pimply math nerd looking for a prom date.  People who previously pursued me to come work with them have turned me down.

Now, lest you think I’m an insensitive wanker, rest assured that I get that in this economy I should feel lucky to have a (mostly) permanent position and enough with the whining about having trouble finding a new posting already.  I really do.

But here’s the funny thing about rejection.  No matter how much you rationalize it, no matter how much you acknowledge that it’s not you, it’s the context, it still sucks.  It’s still a hit to the confidence.  Maybe not as bad as it would have been without the context being what it is, not “OMG I want to curl up and die,” bad, but definitely still “Holy jeebus, how could a paper cut that small hurt that much!” painful.

So, right now I’m doing a bit of wound licking.  And then I’m gonna go out, and give it another try.  Cause no one’s gonna wanna hire a quitter, right?