I sound like a dick in my cover letters

A few months ago, I was trolling the internet looking for my next gig, something to keep me going just a little longer, because I'm a freelance-everything, and that's pretty much just what you have to do with your life.  I was looking at Stage Management jobs, and I happened to come across a post for an off-night show which was... pretty much perfect for me, since I perform on Saturday nights.  I composed a cover letter for this job, and pretty much immediately thought I sounded like a self-important dick.  What the hell, I thought, and sent it anyway.  I got that job within the hour, no interview required. 

I've been keeping it in my back pocket, for the times when I really want to be considered for something, and I've had some good opportunities crop up in the last few weeks that called for its modification and return to service.  Surprise, surprise, I got called to schedule an interview less than an hour after I sent it in. 

What I've discovered is something that isn't exactly new.  In fact, it's something that I totally already knew, once upon a time.  I must have forgotten it somewhere along the line of spending three years frying my brain cells out under someone else's fluorescent lighting.  Confidence makes you look competent. 

Confidence makes you look competent. 

I'm not saying that confidence alone is going to qualify you for a job you're not competent at, but it sure seems to go a long damn way.  I've spent so long apologizing for myself, apologizing for somehow managing to be good at Stage Management and writing and photography.  When you write it out, it doesn't seem to be so nonsensical, but in my brain, somehow being demure and apologizing for my abilities equaled being a humble and hardworking employee.  Someone who wouldn't be difficult to work with.  Someone who would just put their head down and do the job and not bitch about it. 

But, to employers, I'm guessing what that says is "I need handholding, because I cannot see how I can possibly manage this task on my own."  or "Ehh... I was mediocre at this, but I still want to keep trying."

Walking into a room, however, and announcing to the group that yes, I'm here, and yes, I'm fabulous... well, that either makes you look like an ignorant blowhard... or it makes you look like yes, you're here, and yes, you really are fantastic at what you do, and you don't need anyone else's validation or handholding to tell you that. 

Who knew?

An Update

Hello, hello.
Um. Not much has been going on here. I closed one show on Valentines' Day, and was settling into a life comprised of getting up late, scouring Craigslist for job postings, and elbowing my way into as many Burlesque gigs as I could fit into my indefinite break.

Well. It is my pleasure to tell you that, as of today, though still *technically* unemployed, I have gotten myself another show. An Equity production. Yes, I've managed to secure myself a position working alongside the coveted Actors' Equity Association. A foothold toward becoming a union stage manager. A foothold toward working in places like, oh, BROADWAY.

I won't get there for a long, long time, if ever. But this is a strong and definite step in the right direction.

Progress

...and, in some cases, a little bit of regress.

Progress comes with a variety of faces. And sometimes, a little regress is welcome too.
I have been continuing with my goal of knitting daily, and I have put out three blanket squares in (I believe) less than three weeks. What took me months to do before, I've done in a matter of weeks, and there's a fair bit of pride in me to realize that my actions have tangible results.

Progress, too, has been made in the realm of my personal existence. I discovered earlier in the week that a boy with whom I have a long and arduous past has recently gotten himself a Facebook, after years of adamantly denying he would ever have one. Upon a quick overview of the place (something that it pains me even to admit having done) I have discovered that, in fact, he is still the same boy I demanded leave my life a year ago this month. And it is becoming clear to me now, in ways that somehow eluded me for the previous FIVE YEARS, that this separation is exactly what I need. And that I need to concentrate on what I've done and accomplished.
Yes, this past year has been insanely rough for me without his presence, but I've done so damn much. I moved to a new city. I lived on my own. I've stumbled through a series of more or less successful jobs. I've Stage Managed two professional shows. And I've discovered the Burlesque community, a group of amazing, empowering, ridiculously sexy women who inspire me to find the beauty in myself and flaunt it mercilessly.
And what has he done? Stayed, to my knowledge, in the same apartment. Worked a circuit of Ren. Fairs. Fucked a lot of stupid young girls who didn't know better. In short, the same damn thing he's been doing, pretty much since I met him.

One day our paths will cross again, I am fair certain of it. (or maybe I just still hope, foolishly) But if they don't... then it is my stalwart goal to become the heir to the Burlesque throne, be beautiful, poised, graceful, and self-assured. And leave him to wonder just why it was that he thought I was no better than a doormat to be used up and flung out into the rain.



...And as for the regression I spoke of at the beginning of this post, it comes in the form of an old friend, or maybe just an old fandom. A marathon of Stargate: SG-1 reruns yesterday made me think about my early college days, when such events were a weekly occurrance. How different I was then. I used to take time out of each day to recognize the beauty of the world around me. I lived slowly and thoughtfully. I watched the stars, walked in the rain, and meditated frequently.

I feel as though that might be a touchstone for me. Something to get back to. And if it takes a marathon of Stargate now and again to remind me... then so be it.