Actively Looking, Selectively Hopeful
Six months, dozens of interviews, and a personality slowly dissolving in recruiter-speak
“Just keep putting yourself out there,” they say, like I’m some kind of LinkedIn-themed street performer juggling enthusiasm, desperation, and a résumé formatted to survive an AI parser. I’ve been “out there” for six months. At this point, I’m less a job seeker and more a recurring character in the world’s most tedious side quest. And no, “manifesting” doesn’t count as a job search strategy.
Welcome back to Beyond the Bugs, where we unpack the parts of tech no one puts in keynote speeches. Today, I want to talk about something way more insidious than merge conflicts or misaligned sprint goals: the creeping psychological decay of a prolonged job search.
Six months. Six. That’s almost two full fiscal quarters. Half a year of trying to convince people I’m worth a salary — not in an abstract sense, but in a “please let me pay for groceries without dread” kind of way.
The Optimism Phase (a.k.a. The Great Delusion)
The first few weeks? You’re on fire. You update your résumé, you finally change that weird GitHub profile picture, you post a thoughtful LinkedIn message that somehow gets more likes than your wedding photos.
You’re feeling energized. Empowered, even. You use words like opportunity and pivot with a straight face.
You track every application in a spreadsheet. You colour-code the ones that are “in progress.” You use a different cover letter for every role because you’re a professional, dammit.
It’s cute, in retrospect. Like watching a Labrador try to fight a lawnmower.
The Screening Call Phase (a.k.a. Corporate Groundhog Day)
Nothing breaks your spirit like the 30-minute screening call. You will have the same conversation over and over:
Yes, I was laid off.
Yes, I’m looking for something people-first and technically interesting.
Yes, I’m comfortable working remotely, in-office, hybrid, or from a flaming airship if you’ll just pay me.
Yes, I’ve led teams. Yes, I still code. Yes, I care about culture.
By month three, you’re reciting this with the detached cadence of a hostage video. The recruiter says “Tell me about yourself,” and you momentarily forget who you are outside of a bulleted list of competencies.
And then the kicker: “We’ll be moving forward with other candidates at this time.” No reason given. No feedback. Just vibes and radio silence.
The Emotional Roller Coaster
Let me walk you through the emotional states of the long-term job hunter:
Hopeful: “Ooh, this company seems like a great fit!”
Suspicious: “Wait, why does this job description require Kubernetes and watercolor painting?”
Cautiously excited: “I’m moving to the final round!”
Soul-crushed: “We’ve decided to move forward with another candidate, but you were really impressive.”
Petty: “What do you mean ‘junior engineer with 8 years experience’?”
Unhinged: You apply for a DevRel role at a blockchain startup just to feel something.
Spiteful Zen: “If it’s meant to be, it will be. Also, I hope their CI pipeline spontaneously combusts.”
A Special Mention: The “You’re Too Senior” Phenomenon
This one’s a treat. You're told you’re overqualified, like that’s a bad thing. As if hiring someone experienced is a red flag instead of, y’know, the actual goal.
“You’d probably get bored.”
Yeah, well, I’m already bored, Greg. That’s why I’m here talking to your facial hair over Zoom. You think I’m too qualified for the job? Cool. Then pay me enough that I can fake being interested in your Jira board for a year.
So What Have I Learned?
Six months of this madness has taught me a few things — some useful, some tragic, all painfully earned.
1. This system is broken.
I know, I know. Big revelation. But seriously — résumés are parsed by machines, then read by people who don’t know the difference between Node.js and Notion. Cultural “fit” means “do you make me feel weird?” and interviews are often a test of endurance, not skill.
2. “Don’t take it personally” is a lie.
This is personal. This is your life, your identity, your income, your dignity. Being told you're not even worth a rejection email? That's personal. And it’s okay to feel that. It’s not weakness — it’s reality.
3. Burnout can happen without a job.
You don’t have to be overworked to be burned out. The grind of constantly selling yourself, prepping for interviews, chasing follow-ups, and trying to sound “enthusiastic” when you’re dead inside? That’ll roast your brain like a marshmallow.
4. The “best candidate” doesn’t always get the job.
Sometimes it’s about timing. Or internal politics. Or budget cuts. Or a CEO’s cousin needing work. This isn’t a meritocracy. Stop trying to make it make sense.
5. Some rest is not laziness — it’s strategy.
Take days off from the hustle. Seriously. The job hunt already sucks your soul dry — don’t also give it your weekends. Recharge. Eat something not from a packet. Watch a movie. Call a friend who isn’t in tech. Find something, anything, that reminds you you’re a human being.
The Part Where I Don’t Wrap It All Up Neatly
I’d love to end this with a triumphant “And then I got the offer!” but I’m still here. Still applying. Still doing awkward small talk on Zoom. Still figuring out how to stay hopeful without becoming delusional.
But if you’re in this too? Know this:
You are not lazy. You are not broken. You are not “too much.” The system is chaotic, and you’re doing your best to swim through it without losing your mind — that’s damn impressive.
Hang in there. And if you do become a forest witch, send me the application link.
Thanks for reading Beyond the Bugs. If you’ve been job-hunting so long you’ve named your résumé file something feral like resume_fuck_this_shit.pdf, you’re among friends. Subscribe, share, or scream into the void — I support all three.