I’ve been on the hunt for a while now. You know that mix of tired and wired—refreshing job boards, rewriting bullets, waiting for replies that don’t come? Over coffee one day, a mentor said something that stuck: “This is not your forever place.” I’ve been repeating it ever since. I even spotted a chapter with that exact line in a career book I read—Cultivating Career Growth: Navigating Transitions with Purpose. It helps to hear it from somewhere outside my head.
What I need most right now isn’t another resume template. It’s hope. A simple strategy that I can actually do on days when my energy dips. And a reminder that I’m still capable, even when the system feels like it’s not built for me.
It’s not just me, either. I read a Reuters piece noting that Canada’s unemployment rate in May hit its highest level in almost nine years outside the pandemic peak—about 1.6 million people out of work. That context doesn’t fix anything, but it explains why this feels harder than it used to.
So here’s the playbook I’m using to stay motivated—one imperfect day at a time.
Name what hurts (so it hurts less)
This season stirs up more than logistics. There’s grief for the routine I lost, shame when people ask “Any updates?”, and anxiety that wakes me up at 3 a.m. When those feelings roll in, I try to name them out loud. It’s not “being dramatic”- it’s being human. Sometimes the most productive thing I do is take a walk, read a chapter, or call a friend who talks to me like I’m more than my application ID.
Interrupt the soundtrack in my head
The inner monologue gets loud: No one wants to help. I’m not good at networking. Why would a senior leader talk to me? I’m practicing a small, awkward reframe:
- People often do help—if I make a clear, respectful ask.
- Leaders are people first. Most remember when someone opened a door for them.
- Informational chats aren’t exams. They’re conversations where curiosity counts more than perfection.
I don’t nail this every day, but catching the thought—even once—can change what I do next.
Do a search check-in (not a self-drag)
When I catch myself saying, “I’m doing all the things,” I pause and audit:
- Does my resume and LinkedIn tell a single, clear story about the kind of work I want next?
- Am I actually tailoring applications—or just editing the first sentence?
- Is my time 90% job boards, 10% people? (I’m nudging that ratio toward more conversation.)
- Do I have a few STAR/CAR stories I can say without rambling?
- After interviews, am I following up with specifics, not generic “thanks”?
Tiny tweaks beat total overhauls. A friend reminded me: You don’t need perfect. You need momentum.
Make progress visible (use the word “yet”)
I’m tracking small wins in a scrappy notes app: five new outreach messages, a clearer target role, a stronger story about that tough project I led. It sounds cheesy, but seeing the list helps. And I try to add “yet” when the sentence is rough: I haven’t landed an offer—yet. That three-letter word sneaks hope back in.
Treat energy like a budget
I’m doing one thing daily that feeds my soul—walks, music, sketching, a quick coffee with someone kind. It’s not extra; it’s maintenance. I set gentle guardrails, too: no doom-scrolling rejection emails at midnight, and breaks that are actual breaks, not “breaks” where I just switch to a different tab.
Lean on people (and let them lean back)
I’m telling a couple of trusted folks the unvarnished version of how it’s going. We trade five-minute debriefs after tough interviews and celebrate tiny wins. They remind me who I am when the market messes with my memory.
I’m learning that a job search isn’t a 24/7 hustle; it’s more like interval training—push, rest, repeat. I’m aiming for alignment and relationships over volume. I’m leaving some room for joy and stillness, even now. And on the rough days, I circle back to that line: This is not my forever place. I will work again. I’m already becoming the person who’ll do that work well.