1879: Progress, or the Lack Thereof

I am frustrated. I know I shouldn’t be, because fixing problems such as those I’m having with my life right now (i.e. not having a job) takes time. But that doesn’t stop it from being frustrating and anxiety-inducing, particularly when things like utility bills pop through the letterbox while I don’t have a meaningful income.

There are, at least, some things on the horizon. Tomorrow I’m going to an interview for a freelance, work-from-home opportunity that will hopefully provide something to do and some money coming in. Unfortunately, I don’t as yet know whether the money it might provide will be meaningful enough to make taking the opportunity worthwhile — particularly as it apparently requires a month of training in their offices in Watford, which is an hour and a half’s drive away — but I figured, at present, any opportunity is better than no opportunity, and attending an interview like this is at least a chance to get a feel for what is out there, what it might pay and whether it’s something worth pursuing.

Nothing has happened on the private music teaching front as yet. I’d like it to, and I’ve got some advertising out there, joined the Musicians’ Union and all manner of other business, but still nothing as yet. I have had some business cards made, too, which I will attempt to distribute via some means in the near future, likely to local music shops and possibly supermarkets if the facility is there to put community notices up.

Work for the local music service has been going a little better, though I’m painfully aware that the work I have been doing over the last couple of weeks is just sickness cover and consequently will likely dry up within another week or two. Still, it means I’ve had the opportunity to show my stuff and potentially open myself up for some further work in the future. Whether or not that will lead to anything meaningful, again, remains to be seen.

So you can probably see why I’m feeling a bit frustrated and anxious. There are several things going on that might prove worthwhile, but which also might end up being a total waste of time. It’s nigh-impossible to know what is actually worth pursuing, what will make me happy and what will bring in enough money to allow me to survive, and the whole business is stressing me out to a ridiculous degree. I just want it sorted, and I want it sorted now. I have plenty to offer the world, but it seems making the world pay attention is not a particularly easy task. And when it proves this difficult to be considered for even the most mundane of jobs, it leaves me questioning myself to an unpleasant degree: have I fucked things up beyond all hope?

Probably not, says the rational part of my brain. But it’s hard not to keep returning to that thought when all I see in my wake is a string of aborted — failed? — attempts at having a career. I’m running out of ideas.