The welding of dream with reality forged in the heat of recommended activity. Memories from decades past formed the personages and place, while the hauntings of reality inserted me as the unwitting, ubiquitous ghost.
A plunge into another pool of social media sparked the sleep-time tumult, me acting on well-intentioned professional encouragement. Knowing the importance of a place in the stream of employment networking, I registered on LinkedIn. This simple act of self-advancement ran up against the guardians of my integral heart, as well as a soul scarred over from a dysfunction-induced fall from proper conduct.
It didn’t feel right, in more than one way.
The first wave hit me over the lack of varied tracks. The registration process asked me to declare my path, a programmed request designed to spin me out of a professional lottery into fields of like-mindedness, to those the people sifter assumes travel similar paths. While there exist resumes what would make mine look rather silly, this one belongs to me. How many 57 year old convicted felons study to be health unit coordinators and simultaneously walk an aspiring novelist trail, waving a back-flying banner of professional insurance and unemployment benefits adjudication experience as a declaration of my investigative, evaluative skill?
In other words, part one of I didn’t feel it would represent and project me, seguing into the part two. It felt disingenuous.
When I apply to an employer, the application gives the truth: the good – there are things to like in my background, and the bad – ugly bad. The truth shared by me, always. It matters.
After registering, I dubbed, searched, and edited, trying to add. A post went on Facebook, declaring my disbelief over the registration. Around 11, I went to bed. Sometime after midnight, after another flop in the other direction, I slid out of bed, wandered to this machine, and deleted the LinkedIn account.
My conscience misassembled the facts and self-spooked; I know irrationality claimed me. I may try again, maybe even tomorrow, if I can put fact in front of my face, if I can convince myself it stands as true, if I can accept the presence as honourable.
Integrity matters, maybe more for me than others. I accept that different measure and I will meet it, always.
The short snippet of dream slips away from me now, no longer the bothersome burden of early morning. It involved people I love and apparitional existence, not a good place to be, as Cathy-in-the-window could attest.