I was recently asked to provide my resume for recognition of something I’m not entirely sure how to rationalize. I haven’t touched my resume in nearly seven years — perhaps a nod to my current employer or perhaps an insight into my lack of preparedness. Regardless, it didn’t exist. And as in the case of most requests for something that should be readily available, I had about 20 minutes of available time to produce said document. So I opened Microsoft Word and produced the required piece of paper meant to outline my accomplishments.
I completed the ask. But I failed at what should have been my usual interpretation of an assignment. Rarely do I find comfort in following orders. My comfort — my normal — lies in the abnormal. My normal, lies in reframing the question until I’m comfortable with the ask and the creative product I’ll be able to produce based on my re-engineering of the original assignment. (This is a fantastic way of living life.)
I’ve never agreed with the concept of reviewing an individual based on a representative sheet of paper. If you’re in front of me and want the job, your piece of paper can do little to prove you’re capable of being curious, passionate or laid back enough to create alongside me. Neither should your curiosity, passion or creativity be minimized if your previous employment opportunities don’t meet someone else’s criteria and therefore don’t feel it necessary to pass along that obligatory piece of paper. I could go on and on but I’m already getting annoyed at the topic.
Perhaps the concept of a resume isn’t wrong, but certainly the template is. You might glean my age from a graduation date listed from the Midwestern university attended I attended, but it doesn’t tell you it was two years delayed from dropping out twice and what those lessons taught me that someone successful of the four-year plan could not comprehend.
I listed my career experience but failed to speak most prominently of my most successful role from 2009–Present as that of being a mother. Responsibilities include but are not limited to: undying love, relentless mentoring, sleepless nights, sleepless mornings, shoulder to cry, snot and puke on, chef, maid, dishwasher, crafter, healer, head disciplinarian and overall chief creative officer.
Certainly my roles as daughter, sister, aunt, ex-wife and girlfriend all require a skill set that any employer would die for.
Why wouldn’t I have listed my taste in music, film and photography? This pertains to nothing on that electronic piece of submitted paper but continue to add to the distinct fiber of me that can not be removed.
And where should I have placed the fact that I will produce nothing of actual value before 9AM (including my presence) but work best between 10 and midnight after my son has been bathed, read to, sent a bedtime video to his father and I’ve finally poured my second glass of wine?
The current standard of resume review creates nothing more than judgement of one’s value based on a subjective date-to-present employment scale — like the production of a paper doll without the closet full of clothes that truly allows her personality to shine through.
This is dumb. And needs fixed. But, it’s nearly 50-degrees out in mid-January and the other thing that’s not listed on my resume is my love of high-tailing it to the woods the moment the opportunity presents itself.