The whole reason Kim and I started our own business was so that we would never have to write resumés.
Ok, maybe not the whole reason.
But it’s at least 79 percent.
Kim recently took one for the team when she was required to write our resumés for an organization that wanted to hire us to speak. The funds were coming from grant money and apparently, a resumé would make it more likely we’d get the job. She was, let’s say, less than thrilled about having to do it. I’m just glad she did it because I would have refused and we wouldn’t have gotten the gig.
To be honest, I’m not sure if we actually got it or not. We better have.
I had my own taste of hell a few months prior. And this is where things are about to get awkward because I have to tell you that I was inducted into the Hall of Fame of the community college I attended. I mention this not to humble brag (did I mention that I was the youngest inductee ever?) but to tell you another story about my disdain for resumés.
During the interview to discuss the ceremony and what would be said about me, it got uncomfortable when the woman who would be presenting the award asked if I had received any notable awards or achieved any renown. Being asked to give an audible account of my accomplishments was like being forced to create a resume on the spot. It made me throw up in my mouth a little.
Because if you’ll remember, 79 percent of the reason for starting my business was so that I would never have to write (or recite) a resumé.
I wanted to tell her, “You evidently picked me for a reason. Just tell people that.”
(Ironically, I sensed that the actual reason I was selected was somewhat related to whatever it is about me that has a disdain for resumés.)
Since I very much appreciated the honor, I tried to avoid having it immediately rescinded by thinking of the least non-flattering way of saying “No, I haven’t received any notable awards or achieved any renown.” I attempted to gracefully explain that my primary business objectives of the past twenty-five years did not revolve around winning awards, earning degrees, and accumulating fancy titles.
The interviewer was very kind in mentioning me being a published author and national speaker, which certainly qualified me in having “renown.”
“Well good, let’s start with that,” I replied.
I seriously thought about bragging about getting first prize in my town’s Halloween poster contest when I was in fifth grade, which is still one of my proudest moments.
Instead, I told her about our home on Lake Michigan. A lake home and a dream studio had been my goal for over twenty years. That’s what I was working for, not a promotion or prestigious award, like being inducted into my school’s Hall of Fame. (Which of course will now go on the next resumé I am forced to write against my will.)
But the dream home would still headline it…if it wasn’t weird to put things like that on a resumé.
Maybe I’m being too hard on resumés. I guess they’re a necessary evil in the world in which we live.
But I’d definitely place the emphasis on evil.
The thing is, they are boring as hell, aren’t that great at telling you much about a person, and tend to over-emphasize the stupid games we get roped into playing to make them look better.
Granted, the lake home is a tangible symbol of success. But its place on my resumé isn’t an empty, vain status symbol. To me, it represents who I became in the process of achieving it. It is the culmination of the faith, focus, effort, and perseverance it required of me.
And while I’m at it, there are a few other things that would go above even the lake home in importance: being happily married for almost a quarter century, and raising three pretty awesome kids who regularly receive compliments for being remarkably mature, creative, and kind.
Now I am bragging, because those are truly rare accomplishments in today’s world.
Dare I say that those sorts of things say a lot more about a person than degrees we earned or what titles have been printed on our business cards.
Ironically, they are also the sorts of things that are hard to achieve when you are distracted trying to win other prizes that more commonly appear on resumes.
Being inducted into the Hall of Fame of Illinois Valley Community College is probably not a high enough honor to give me the pull to put a moratorium on all resumés from this day forth.
But maybe this serves as yet another reminder to be intentional about what games you’re playing.
Maybe it will encourage you to break the rules of what a traditional resumé is supposed to look like.
And maybe it will inspire you to make sure that whatever ends up on yours really matters…to you.
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