withered accolades

Photo by Plato Terentev on Pexels

I shouldn’t have to lose important 
parts of me to make myself accepted 
cut entire slices off my past 
to be more easily digested…
I’ll play the game 
and I’ll dance the dance 
but the hardest part for me 
is to come to terms with the truth 
that no one cares about your medals 
from another time, no one wants 
your withered accolades, your fruits 
from a bygone era….
covered in the stink of failure, 
drowning in a sea of rejection, 
checkered by the missteps of youth 
they don’t know what to say when 
they see your puzzle, 
they don’t know how to connect your dots 
a product of the worst generation, 
the unluckiest cohort of recent times, 
born in the era of innovation, 
when we believed that all kids were special, 
but instead we were dragged through 
the mud of our parents’ and grandparents’ 
narrow-minded and short-sighted transgressions…
so who will take me now?
who will give me my long-awaited recompense 
who will see that mistakes make you stronger 
who will see all the things I’ve done 
as evidence that I can do a lot 
that I am not lost but instead 
that I will do whatever it takes to be found, 
always willing and able to take 
the impossible step, 
to make a difficult change when it is necessary 
who will see, who will see?

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Garbage Notes:

Recently I was advised by someone that I should put my education down at the bottom of my resume. Why else but to make it less obvious that I’m way over educated for the position I was applying for?

I find myself doing this a lot lately. Downplaying major accomplishments of my past in order to portray a certain neater narrative of myself.

It’s kind of sad, though. It’s kind of bullshit, actually. The fact that we have to do this. That people aren’t open minded and flexible enough to see how skills in one domain can be useful in a completely different one.

As the poem says, “I’ll play the game, and I’ll dance the dance,” because, well, that’s what you have to do to get hired and get ahead. But, like, come on—even to the extent of hiding the fact that I know a lot about psychology? Or the fact that I’m a published academic writer and a published fiction writer? Is that so hard to reconcile?

The fact that I actually make some money at this thing that’s not particularly easy to make money at shouldn’t be something I have to cover up. Not talking about my varied accomplishments is kind of ridiculous. And yet I downplay it all. Because if I highlighted it, it makes me look like there’s this other stuff that matters more to me. That my priorities are elsewhere.

Well, yes. My priorities are elsewhere. I care deeply about my continued education. As a human being, as a scholar, and a creative writer. Is there something so wrong with that?

I don’t get faulted for my other priorities. That I spend time with the people I love. My family. My girlfriend. My cat. The fact that I like basketball and pulpy science fiction shows. Or that I make sure I get enough sleep and exercise.

Yes, of course, that stuff doesn’t go on a resume. I know that. That’s personal life, right? But the fact that I know certain professional-level things and that I communicate well and have an excellent command of the English language—you want me to conceal all that? Seriously, it all feels a little absurd.

Anyway, so that’s most of what this poem is about. The sad fact that we have to hide parts of ourselves to make certain impressions in order to get ahead.

Then there’s another element to this poem which is more of a Millennial’s lament. Me begrudging the fact that generationally speaking, my cohort has kind of gotten screwed.

How bad the job market was when we got out of college. The burden of student loans. How bad things got during the pandemic just as we should have been buying houses and starting families. How the Earth is kind of in rough shape. How all the animals are going extinct. How we should have had flying cars by now. Ugh. So much to complain about, right?

You know the story. I won’t make too much of it. But part of what this poem is saying is that there are many reasons why a person (or an entire generation) might look better or worse in reality than they look on paper.

There are societal factors. There are individual differences. There are so many things going on. But I wish the answer didn’t have to involve pretending you are a different product than you are.

For example, it should seem way more admirable that I had the courage and fortitude to change careers at the age of thirty than that I am highly proficient in Microsoft Office.

I wish our failures and our false starts and our disadvantages were looked upon with more respect and admiration than they are. Because, ultimately, it’s the failures that motivate you to do better. It’s the losses that shape you into a stronger and more resilient person.

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Franco Amati 2024

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