Fingers tapping, legs shaking, I looked down at my suit. Something about the buttons looked off – it was “sometimes, always, never” wasn’t it? Normally, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But with everything depending on this single moment, it was the smallness of things that made them most significant. I was scared of the idea that if the small things were what went wrong, I’d never know what might have happened if they hadn’t. If I didn’t get the job, the next few weeks would be nothing but hypotheticals: Might I have been hired if my tie matched my shirt better? What if I’d combed my hair differently? If I’d gotten more sleep the night before, instead of practicing mock-interviews?


An all too familiar wave of pessimism began to creep its way into the air. It was that special kind of pessimism reserved for these types of events: the championship games, the admission decisions, the job interviews… those turning points in life where everyone at some point or another is forced to realize that success is a gamble, and that they may be betting against the odds. It’s wasn’t the possibility of not winning the game that scared me, it was the prospect of losing everything that I’d wagered – the idea that effort I’d invested in the last eight years might mean nothing here.

It occurred to me, as it often had before, that the wiser move might be to not take the bet at all. This was a thought I imagined occurred to everyone at some point or another; that it might be easier to not try and not fail than it was to work for something that might never come. It seemed to be less taxing on the ego at least – defending one’s ability to perform a hypothetical task always seemed less complicated than justifying failure.

Five minutes past the scheduled time and there was still no one in the room with me. I was beginning to get anxious, and found myself wondering where else I’d be right then, if not in that room – interestingly enough, my mind went blank. Despite my nerves, I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d like to be, and it dawned on me that this wasn’t a new sensation. I was playing the waiting game, I was pulling the all-nighters, I was doing overtime – and I loved it. I realized that I hadn’t even placed a bet on the table: all the toil that had gone into reaching this point was valuable in own right. I’d enjoyed it.

The clock’s hands continued to crawl forward as I sat, waiting for the door to creak open and the interviewer to enter. Minutes later the door opened and the air cleared as a man rushed through the door. His hair was beaten by the wind outside, his shirt was half-untucked, and his suit unbuttoned.

“Sorry I’m late,” he gasped as he threw a binder onto the desk, “it’s nice to meet you.”