Last week, upon my return home from bombing my dream job interview, I made this video diary entry (below).
Now, after having a week to reflect, the time has come to write about it, as a means to look back at the experience with more clarity, acceptance, and understanding.
These aspects will help me turn this failure into a success, though the exact way this will happen is still lost on me.
Here is the video, and below that, is my current reflection on the matter.
It’s officially been a week since I returned home, fevered with self-directed anger and shame.
I’d left my home hopeful, confident, and determined to manifest a dream that I’d long held onto. This job interview was a key — one that would lift the veil between a dream being distant, and becoming a tangible reality.
But instead, I got sent home before even making it to the second round.
It wasn’t due to lack of preparation. I’d searched various topics of the matters — from the company, to the process, to potential interview questions. I’d practiced, refined, and tweaked presentation skills that I had not brought forth to the surface in some time.
But I blew it, and not just due to a single, fatal mistake. No, it was due to a slew of mistakes, one after the other, like striking the first of a long line of dominoes. As course as the words feel, it’s true: I blew it — and hearing hollow assurances that I wasn’t that bad doesn’t ease the regret or shame. If anything, it’s nothing but salt sprinkled on an open wound.
As I said in my video diary, the day after returning home, I compare it to the competition shows, where someone is sent home every week. Of course, everyone is there to compete for the number one spot; but in reality, what everyone really wants, is to not be the first ones sent home.
I was, for all intents and purposes, the first one sent home.
It was bad from the beginning, if I’m being honest. I had the instructions for how to arrive at the location of the interview, however the directions to the shuttle were vague and, after letting 3 shuttles pass with the correct description for the one I was supposed to take, I learned that some of the drivers had confused their routes and had ended up in the wrong location.
In any case, I was about 15 minutes late upon actually arriving. I was the last to arrive. I was greeted by two employees who quickly checked me in before directing me down to where the interview was taking place.
The interview was initially a group interview, with about 40-50 people who’d already completed the first individual task (a written exercise), and were already mingling and getting to know each other (which was, undoubtedly, part of the interview).
I rushed through the written exercise, completely forgetting the advice I had been given earlier, only panicked by the sounds of others cordially showcasing their personalities through, what seemed like, the effortless art of conversation.
I, myself, have lost my ability to turn on an extroverted face in public as the years have past. I tried my best, to find appropriate times to chime in and ask questions, only to find that they would only be repeating themselves, and had to think of some other means to get to know them.
From there, I overcompensated. I made a point, to a forceful degree, of remembering and repeating everyone’s names. I couldn’t read when was an appropriate time to speak, or listen. In the group activity I’d found my footing, offering a medially position and helping everyone bring their strengths forward, which is a true strength of mine.
I thought I was getting the hang of it, I thought I was finally starting to bring attention to myself in a positive way, the way I had originally intended.
But then, in smaller groups, we each were asked an individual interview question.
I haven’t been clinically diagnosed with a hearing impairment, but I have a hard time understanding people when they speak to me if I cannot read their lips (we were all wearing masks). As the interviewer spoke to me, I got out a notepad and starting writing down the question, so that I could see the question in front of me before responding. This was, apparently, a very serious mistake. The instructor called me out by name, shaking his head, quickly writing down this mistake on whatever record keeping device they were using.
He didn’t look at me angrily, but sternly stated that no note-taking of any kind was permitted throughout the interview. I apologized, perhaps too profusely, and rambled on about how I was only trying to write down the question so I could better process it for a response. They responded “it’s alright,” but nothing more. I gave my answer, to the best of my ability, and likely went over the time limit with my answer, regardless of how good and relevant it my example was.
We were given a break, I continued talking with the other candidates, until we returned and the instructors left the room while another continued showing us a slide show. At this point, I had no idea what to think. I knew I wasn’t doing great, but I didn’t think I was doing terrible.
That’s when one of the instructors returned, the same one that had been waiting for me to let me through when I’d arrived. They noted that, if they called our name, to gather our things and follow them. Out of only a couple names, mine was the first one called. I knew, almost immediately, that was the beginning of the end. I followed them back up, through security, to the glass doors where we had first entered. They pleasantly told us to wait there for the shuttle, and that we would have our official notice in 5-7 business days.
And that was it. That was the end of it.
The shuttle took us back to the airport, where I then had several hours to sit and stew over everything that went wrong. What I’d said, what I hadn’t said, arriving late and allowing a seed of doubt to grow and fester within me. It was maddening, even as a small piece of my conscience tried to persuade me otherwise of what my conscience already knew.
I didn’t get it. In fact, I was the first name off the list to not get it.
In hindsight, this was a blessing in disguise. Part of me knew it at the time, though knowing it did nothing to soothe the ebbing and flowing feels of embarrassment, guilt, and shame.
The experience was not in vain. When my time finally does come, when I’m back on the mantle with a dream opportunity, I will be better prepared for it. I won’t wait for it to come to me, I will actively seek it out. I’ve already gotten back up off my feet and put myself back out there.
I’ve decided to share my experience with you, and try to put it into words. Granted, the experience of putting this somewhere is as much for me as it is for you, but I hope that someone else might learn from this, or perhaps not feel alone in their own feelings of failure. Failure is a very lonely feeling.
But failure is never the end of the story, it’s only a piece of the story, and what is needed for us to truly appreciate the experience of success when it comes.
I have yet to receive the official notice that I didn’t get the job, but I’m not waiting for it. I’ve already accepted it, and I’m already moving on.