can i add life experience to my resume?

Help wanted pages always depress me. Not that it takes very long anymore – the pages aren’t enough to line a birdcage. What always bothers me is that most jobs ask for years of experience.

Ten years experience? I would have been 12 and pining away for Kevin from the Backstreet Boys – I always had a thing for square jaws.

Seven years experience? Yeah – the 15 year-old me would be rushing through high school halls lined with yellow lockers. Probably rushing to finish homework I had forgotten to do the night before because I was painting my nails blue and arguing with my first “real” boyfriend. And by “real” I mean I didn’t giggle and run away when I saw him.

Five years experience? Does booking hair and make-up from D.C. count as scheduling? What about freaking that you won’t get to Jersey before prom because you are stuck at a Model United Nations conference during a massive snow storm – crisis experience?

Three years experience? Pharmacy technician doesn’t work well on a journalism resume. But you try asking a crazy lady about her medical insurance while screaming at her devilish children. That prepared me for asking questions, listening and typing as fast as humanly possible – before those kids knocked down another Hallmark display.

All I have is one year of experience – an “internship,” which is a fun way for newsrooms to work you to the bone and pay you next to nothing. I loved every minute of it – calling strangers, setting up interviews, getting to the heart of things, taking pictures, pushing toward a deadline, looking over pages.

But it’s only a year. Maybe I can add that I know all the words to the “Larger than Life” to my resume. I’m sure that will give me some bonus points.

why journalism?

People always ask me why I went into journalism.

I took up journalism because I have no skills. Just kidding - sort of. 

I'm passionate about writing. There are some nights that I'll suddenly wake up from a deep sleep and feel the need to write something down. I keep a notebook and pen near my bed just for that reason. I learned from fumbling in the dar, hitting my knees against furniture, cursing a little then completely forgetting what I was going to write - leading to more cursing. It only took six years. 

But until I write the newest, greatest American novel (I'm thinking girl meets guy, they fall in love, she turns out to be an evil cyborg bent on destroying human life, fin. I'm thinking about casting Paris Hilton in the movie version so it's believable), I'm sticking with journalism.

It was either starving artist, literature teacher, public relations or journalism. I like food, so starving artist is out. I don't want to be a lit teacher because they over-analyze everything. I mean, what if Moby Dick wasn't an allegorical novel for the human condition and man's relationship with a supreme being? What if it was just a story about a whale and a deranged captain? Public relations is out for now because I heard you have to sell your soul. And I already sold my soul for a peanut butter chocolate milkshake two years ago - and it was completely worth it. 

D.C. is the way to be

I have dreamed about living in D.C. since my first trip there eight years ago. Be prepared for a walk down memory lane - or a light jog.

It was a Model United Nations trip (yes, I'm that kinda nerd) and it was my first long trip away from home without my parents. You would think all sorts of young mischief would ensue - graffiti, under-age drinking, public nudity. Nope - remember it was Model UN. We got our chuckles from making obscure references to World War II. (Gettin' with your mama was as easy as invading Poland in 1939!)

The days were filled with hot debates, shoddy treaties and strong declarations over Midi Cafe freshly squeezed orange juice on Connecticut Ave. The nights were shared with laughs and whispers over Best Hunan's steaming dumplings. We all dressed in our "Western business attire" and playing "adults" for the week.

Now when I go into D.C. for work, talks are over Jack and Cokes. This time I have to listen - my job requires me to be unbiased and listen. (My favorite word - What?) But I miss voicing my opinions - as loud and obnoxious as they may be. And I still feel like I'm pretending to be an adult.