Flashbacks to the 2008 Crisis

An essay on recessions, writing, and just getting by

“I’m sorry. We had a journalist with 20 years of experience apply for the role,” the editor said when he called about a week after my job interview for an entry-level journalism position. “Any other year, I would have hired you. Any year but this year.”

If I remember correctly, the position paid about $25,000 a year and didn’t include a gas stipend for travel to interviews. The interview had gone swimmingly, and the editor had excitedly praised my collection of clips, which I’d obtained through internships and practicums while still in school.

Any year but this year.

It was a sentiment I heard several times in 2009.

I’d graduated from a public university with a degree in mass communication and was searching desperately for a “real” job while working at a mall in another city for minimum wage. The high gas prices and 45-minute drive–combined with my brand-new student loan payments–left me with little to no cash for rent, food, or other necessities.

I put in hundreds, if not thousands, of applications to all types of jobs that year, applying to everything from entry-level journalism and marketing positions that utilized my degree to customer service gigs. I had experience in food service and applied to Pizza Hut, local restaurants, grocery stores, and convenience stores. Literally anything. I just needed money.

But the unemployment rate for my age group (20 to 24) was at 15.7%.

Silence.

Graduation, which seemed like it should have been a celebratory time, instead felt like a death knell.

When the Beginning Becomes the End

“You’re not buying only junk, you’re buying junked lives. And more — you’ll see — you’re buying bitterness.” — John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

That year, every day was a struggle to get by, and I wasn’t alone. Millions upon millions of others were facing job loss, food insecurity, and homelessness. In 2009, the data showed a record number of home foreclosures for the previous year. Overall poverty rates increased rapidly, including child poverty rates.

And I kept job searching.

Another editor I interviewed with in 2009 suggested I take a couple of years off from journalism.

Try again, he suggested, when the long-timers have gotten better jobs and don’t need these entry-level positions anymore.

Others told me to abandon writing. Chase a different dream or find a career path–not writing! — with more security and higher pay. Obviously, they said, I’d been silly to chase after such a lofty goal anyway. Meanwhile, they asked why journalists no longer cared about producing quality content, why no one wanted to do serious journalism anymore?

I didn’t give up on writing at that point. But I also didn’t have years to wait, and writing is an ever-changing field. Long story short, I eventually ended up in a marketing role heavy in SEO writing. I also started freelancing not too long after.

I’ve since written for newspapers, magazines, and anthologies. I’ve worked as a copywriter, published fiction, and contributed to other writers’ projects.

To supplement my income over the years, I’ve taken on a variety of part-time gigs, and even full-time positions when necessary. I’ve worked as a newspaper delivery driver, restaurant server, at big box stores, and in a range of other roles as needed to get by. And I wouldn’t trade my experiences for the world.

I’m very happy with what I’ve been able to achieve in the writing world thus far, though I never ended up achieving my original goal of full-time journalism.

Echoes of the Past

Despite my satisfaction with my space in the writing world, I’ve found the words those editors said coming back to me recently. And I’ve felt a bit of the same old fear from those years in my heart again.

In fact, I kept replaying those words to myself in 2020 as I watched my co-workers (and many others) get laid off due to the pandemic.

In a way, I thought, this feels like 2008 repeating. But with the added threat of a illness and death.

I kept expecting that 2008 feeling to recede, but it lingers, only getting more potent as relationships and economies deteriorate worldwide, and as we watch for another recession around the corner.

Any year but this year.

Try again later.

You were just unlucky. It’s a bad time.

I’m not hearing those words at the moment myself, but I know there are people out there being told to wait as I write this — who have been told to postpone since 2020, when the bottom fell out. Particularly younger people who are starting out in the workforce during these unstable times.

Not now. Hang on and wait. Your time will come.

I know the despair those words cause.

I understand the crushing fear when you overdraft your bank account and are unsure how you’re going to pay rent; when you must choose between a utility bill and food for the first time. And I wish I could reassure all those being told to wait that their time will come, that things will settle down.

But the truth is no one can tell you when your time will come with any certainty — in any field or venture — or if it ever will. Many of the writers I’ve met along my journey stopped writing altogether at some point because they felt they’d never reach the level of success they wanted.

The only thing I can say for certain is that I’m here for the long haul. Just as I was here for the long haul in 2009, when I was encouraged to go down another path. And if you’re a writer who is here to stay as well, I’m sure we’ll bump into each other from time to time as we weave stories and enjoy well-told tales together — even through the unsettled times.

Or maybe, especially through the unsettled times.

We’ll revel in the worlds we’ve made and anticipate each curve of the road like seasoned travelers, knowing we’ll face obstacles. Knowing what lies ahead may be difficult, may mean poverty, fear, and doubt. May be deadly even.

But also may be beautiful.

May be kind.

May be enlightening.

We can face the uncertain future knowing that what's ahead is life, and though it may be dangerous, we must take it as it comes.

As Ursula K. LeGuin says in The Left Hand of Darkness, “The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty: not knowing what comes next.”

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