First Person

When an Engagement Specialist Calls

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By David Latessa

When my family and I moved to New Jersey last summer, my wife's relocation package in corporate America included career assistance for her spouse. Leaving my job as a financial-aid counselor at Yale University, I happily agreed to begin life in New Jersey as a temporary stay-at-home dad.

Once the moving boxes were unpacked and we were settled, I planned to rejoin the workforce. Since I viewed our move as an opportunity to explore possibilities beyond financial aid, hooking up with a career consultant seemed like a natural fit. So a few months later, when an "engagement specialist" called to discuss my career transition, why was I so hesitant to get the ball rolling?

I procrastinated about returning the call for several days. I had my reasons. Suppose the consultant found me a job right away. Were my wife and I ready to pack up Sophie each morning and shuttle her off to day care? Having completed my first novel (as yet unpublished), didn't I have an idea for a second that I promised myself I would write, or at least begin writing, before I headed back to work?

And how settled were we anyway? Wasn't it only the week before that I had gotten lost just going out to pick up a pizza? We still had Connecticut driver's licenses and plates. Wouldn't it take at least a few trips to the DMV to situate ourselves and our cars in the Garden State?

Rationalizations aside, it was clear that my hesitation stemmed from the fact that I was enjoying my role as a temporary stay-at-home dad too much and not really missing the working world. Somehow, temporary had come to seem much too temporary.

Eventually I called the consultant because, after all, the service was free, and it couldn't hurt. I spoke with the engagement specialist and selected a teleconference date for my "overview session" with a group of other people who, like myself, were between jobs. As I reviewed the available time slots with him, it became obvious that my worlds were about to collide. The session would be during the day and would therefore conflict with my job as stay-at-home dad. I would have to count on a nap or a video to make it work.

On the day of the teleconference, I put a wide-awake Sophie in her bouncy seat and turned on a Baby Einstein DVD. The video offers the option of single or repeat play and I selected repeat, a choice that up until then had made me wonder what kind of parent would just plop a baby down for multiple versions of the same show. I had a college roommate who would settle into the couch and watch movies from beginning to end, and immediately rewind to watch all over again. As I strapped Sophie in for a marathon viewing of Baby Einstein, I wondered if I was consigning her to a similar fate.

I pressed repeat and moved into the next room to call into the conference. A woman named Kim introduced herself as the session's facilitator and welcomed me and the dozen or so other participants. Right away I knew Kim was a pro. Her spirited tone and precise articulation exuded a confident energy through the phone lines. Clearly, she had done this before, just as clearly as she had already met her daily caffeine quota.

After offering a brief overview of the company, Kim began the session with a resounding question for the job candidates: What do you hope to get out of this program? She called on me first. I offered an honest, albeit wordy, answer about direction, self-discovery, and the opportunity to explore different fields and positions that would draw upon my interests and passions.

Kim seemed almost giddy as she reiterated my comments with glowing validation. I proudly gazed over at Sophie, who was mesmerized by her video, and smiled as if to say, "Your old man has still got it."

While I was basking in my A+ answer, Kim proceeded to pose the same question to several other attendees. As she raved about each person's response and how her company would be able to meet each stated objective, I felt my A+ getting gradually diluted by Kim's grade inflation.

As the call progressed, I peeked in on Sophie, who seemed confused to see her video end and begin anew. When she began to fuss and threaten a meltdown, I went to pick her up. Sophie wanted to play, not be on a teleconference, so holding her was not enough. She looked at me and let out a barrage of monosyllabic accusations, which I translated as, "Isn't it your job to play with me? You're not really thinking of another job, are you?"

As Sophie continued to demand answers, Kim interrupted her presentation to ask about the noise coming from somebody's line. I piped in a meek apology, and Kim kindly instructed me how to mute myself and Sophie for the remainder of the call. After some further confusion as I tried to unmute for Kim's concluding roll call, the teleconference ended, and Sophie and I went out on the porch to engage in a long-awaited game of Sophie drops the toy keys and Dad picks them up.

As I reflected on the call later that night, I had to admit it was the push I needed to get going on my job search. Despite the embarrassment of being relegated to mute status, I was re-energized by Kim's can-do attitude and the possibilities that awaited me in the job market.

I also realized that not a single person had dared to offer the most succinct and obvious answer to Kim's initial question about what we wanted from the consultant: "I hope to get a job" or "I hope to get a better job." No matter what our different stories were, wasn't that the bottom line?

It's been more than a month since my overview session. I've dabbled on the company's Web site but have yet to sink my teeth totally into it. I've looked over the job listings but have yet to apply for one; I've done a few career-asset exercises but not enough to recognize the color of my rainbow; I've reviewed the schedule of online seminars called "webinars" that the company offers but have yet to register for one.

Why does it seem, once again, as if my bottom line has been somehow pushed to the bottom of my to-do list? In the end, it's the universal case of a finite number of minutes in a day and my priorities for how I spend that time. After all, I have several jobs I'm already juggling.

To start with, taking care of a baby certainly qualifies as at least a full-time job. Temporary or permanent, parenthood is now my primary job, and Sophie must come first. Frankly, being a stay-at-home dad is a duty I enjoy more than being a financial-aid administrator, but a day with Sophie leaves me more fatigued than a day at Yale ever did. And that's saying something.

The question, then, is how I prioritize my other jobs since there is limited time and energy to allot to them. My passion for writing has led me to undertake various creative projects -- a book for Sophie and my nieces for Christmas, a half-time poem for my wife's family's traditional football game, and research and brainstorming for that upcoming second novel.

Talk to any writer, and they will say that to be a writer, you must start by writing every day. Since I fancy myself a writer and am exhilarated by the creative process, that job always seems to get priority right after Sophie. I still face the daunting challenge of publishing my first novel. While querying and sending manuscripts can at times feel like a pointless exercise in collecting rejection letters, I know that it only takes one swing of the bat to hit a home run. So I keep swinging away.

Finally, there is my job search. As Kim explained, a proper job search is almost like a full-time job. Maybe my slow progress since the teleconference is a result of the lack of pressure to get a job. After all, my wife is happy to have me at home with Sophie, and while financial considerations cannot be dismissed, the bill collectors are not knocking down our door.

Still, I know that I should take advantage of the lack of pressure -- not by putting my search on the back burner but by committing to a thorough and careful search. And that is what I intend to do as the new year gets under way.

Friends and relatives who read my first column responded with positive comments like, "Can't wait to see how it works out." My simple response remains, "I can't wait either." As I proceed with a more resolute spirit, I hope that my engagement specialist, Kim, and her company can help me find a better answer.