Closing Doors...

You've all heard the saying that when God closes a door, he opens a window. Well, I've had the opportunity to stare at a few closed doors recently; I'm just waiting to happen upon the open window.

About a month ago, a friend contacted me about a project management position at a local Seattle company. It was the best lead I'd had since commencing my search for a new job earlier this year. I submitted a resume and waited. I soon received a call and set up an interview. My mind began to wander. What if... I saw myself at this new company working on new projects and building new teams. I had no doubt that I could do it. But, I never seem to be able to convince others. Too quiet. Too reserved. Not confident enough. Not this time, I asserted. On the day of the interview, I left work early and ventured home to dress in my pressed shirt and slacks; a red tie - suggested by Joseph - was meant to show my vibrance and desire. I arrived at the building looking all official-like and ascended in the elevator to the receptionist's desk. Soon, one of my interviewers retrieved me and sat me in a spartan conference room with comfortable chairs. A project manager like me, she and I traded questions about methodologies and methods. We chuckled about developers resisting our plans and teambuilding. And when it was over, I felt all the more confident. Not for long... Two unassuming and not so intimidating men entered the room. They sat, and the bespectacled man across from me put a question to me. It went something like: if you are given three cobumbulators in a versinagen and told to manage the project towards elf-four CTMs, what would you do? I felt the collar of my off-white shirt begin to choke me. The perspiration evaporated from my scarlet forehead before it could sting my eyes eliciting tears. I bumbled through an explanation about how I wasn't sure what a verumbulator was. They took pity on me and moved to other topics. I think I recovered a shred of my dignity as the interview continued, but I had fallen prey to the lurking technofile's first question that, I later realized, had nothing to do with technology at all but rather about project management. I left the premises feeling... well... verklempt. I wondered if my knowledge of project management was enough to get me in the door. It wasn't. They went with someone who had more technical experience. I guess history and philosophy don't particularly count as technical. Alas...

More recently, I decided to step outside of my box and audition for the Seattle Men's Chorus. I didn't tell many people because, again, I had little confidence that I'd be able to achieve the goal. My experience in such things was limited to a middle school chorus and the St. John's Seminary Choir. But, again, with support from one of the members and from Joseph, I decided to give it a try. I entered the Baptist Church on Harvard Avenue off of Broadway and made my way to the basement. Sitting in typical 1970's basement church chairs were interviewers and auditioners. The auditioners filled out paperwork in triplicate as the interviewers looked over their shoulders commenting on each item written. My hands began to sweat. I thought about turning around and walking back into the rain, but I persisted. I mumbled a greeting to one of the interviewers and sat on a padded chair. The interviewer sat next to me and began to watch me write. 'Wow' he commented. I looked up at him confusedly. 'That is beautiful handwriting' he said. 'Uh thanks' I replied in my best imitation of an indifferent male 14 year old. I looked back down. No eye contact lest this or some other interviewer try to make more small talk. But, no one on earth can resist the word 'seminary'. As soon as I listed that as my significant experience in choral work, he asked if I was a priest. 'No' I admitted. But that's never quite enough. 'Where? How? Who? Why?' All the questions come at once, followed by more interested glances and questions from interviewers and auditioners alike. Not in any mean way do people ask. But any seminarian - ex or otherwise - is an automatic attraction. I suppose my discomfort showed as the questions waned. The interviewers moved on to songwriting and traveling auditioners. I thanked my lucky stars, introvert that I am. And then came the call. I walked down a long hallway through a pair of double doors and saw a tall bald man flanked by an odd looking terrierish dog who seemed to think himself more distinguished that he actually was. The dog, that is. The auditionee made a joke. He was trying to make me feel at ease. He would have had an easier time teaching a rhinoceros to eat with a fork. But I appreciated his efforts. I sang a few notes. He told me that I was very precise in my ability to hit the notes. He also told me I was a baritone. Baritones are a dime a dozen, he told me. They were looking for first tenors and basses. I thanked him for his candor. He still told me that someone would contact me. Just in case the other fifty-two happened to be hit by rogue fork-carrying rhinoceroses. I came home from work today to a message thanking me for my interest but succintly not inviting me to join the Seattle Men's Choir. Door number two...

I thought long and hard about feeling sorry for myself. But when I did, I reflected on a quotation my father recently used to make a point. Regarding Thomas Edison's 2000 attempts to make an incandescent light bulb, Edison remarked 'I did not fail; I found 2000 ways not to make a light bulb.' Well, God has closed a couple doors recently. But I haven't yet failed. I just found ways not to get a job at a networking company and not to sing in the Seattle Men's Choir. And so, I wonder what will be my next attempted misadventure. I'll let you know...