My first job interview in Galway was with a backpackers’ hostel, for the role of Accommodation Assistant, a fancy term for cleaner. I applied for the job in the morning and was called in for an interview within a few hours. I also received a call for an interview at one of Galway’s Aran sweater stores. I was optimistic going into the interviews- I did tell a white lie when asked if I had somewhere to live. I did have temporary accommodation, and was hopeful that by the time I had to leave there, I would have something more permanent arranged.
Before the online interview for the temporary event customer service role, I hadn’t had a job interview in years. I was nervous going into these face to face meetings. I knew the question of my work authorisation was always going to come up. The event security company had still been prepared to hire me, so I knew that it didn’t matter to everyone.
I knew I couldn’t control the way people viewed my being on a temporary working holiday authorisation. I just wanted to get my job and housing situation established so I could focus on what was most important to me- researching and writing the Irish novel. I knew that the right job and accommodation would present itself.
I had come to believe that, in regards to travel and home, I was more of a homebody than I had realised. What the Cold Plunge trip had taught me about myself so far was that, as exciting as it may seem to be bouncing all over the world, hear one month, there the next, in practicality it was time consuming and emotionally and mentally exhausting. I was spending so much time on establishing the base level security elements of my life. Accommodation, figuring out where I was going to have breakfast, lunch and dinner, whether I could make it at my accommodation or have to wat out, and the constant expense of it all. I felt I had no mental space or energy for the things that really brought me joy. The whole purpose of me being in Ireland was to work on my series of crime novels. I did not want to spend the next twelve months continuously searching for work, housing and food.
I felt that two separate experiences were presenting themselves to me: a book research trip and a working holiday backpacking trip. I didn’t think both could co-exist. I needed a solid home base to come back to every day, and I didn’t want to spend half the time looking for the next place. I left like if you were doing the nomadic life thing, you had to be prepared to be completely absorbed by it, and everything it involved. You had to be prepared to be constantly planning the next step, or, be completely comfortable with not knowing what the next step was. I didn’t want to be in either of those stages. I wanted my base to be solid, for at least a month at a time. And I didn’t want to be constantly worrying about money and trying to survive in potentially poor conditions on the pittance I’d be earning in temporary work. I wanted to focus on the things I really wanted to do in this lifetime. Write my books. Re-establish myself as a hula hoop and aerial hoop performer. Host writing events. become a circus personal trainer. I wanted to do these things I’d been trying to do for years, but had been unable to do because I had been constantly preoccupied with having to re-establish some survival level element of my life, like my living situation.
Maybe I did just want a simple life, in a quiet and peaceful household, in a quiet and peaceful neighbourhood. One thing I knew for sure was that I didn’t want the ‘backpacker’ lifestyle. I couldn’t keep it up for the next twelve months.
So what was I to do now?
The time came to move out of my temporary accommodation, and I didn’t know how many more of these moves I had in me. The morning of the move, I hadn’t even gotten out of bed and I was already crying. The idea of having to do this constantly for the next year was not a possibility for me. Even if I did get one of the jobs I had interviewed for, the idea of having to jump around to different accommodations while trying to work was just not sustainable. I could not see myself doing it long-term.
This was not the experience I had envisioned for myself. I hadn’t expected everything to fall into place straight away, but I had never anticipated it would be this hard either. Or maybe I had realised it would be hard, and had put the thought to the back of my mind and tried not to think about it.
If I did get a job, I considered how long I would give to the search for accommodation. I could not live in backpacker hostels. I needed a room, a space of my own. I needed a desk to write at. I was in Ireland to write, not to be constantly working and moving around and re-establishing my base level securities.
I had my eye on auditioning for a scarer role at a Halloween event in County Meath in August. It was now the end of July, and I considered giving the job and house hunt in Galway another month. If I didn’t get an aut=dition or a job at the Halloween event, I could look at heading home to Australia in November.
My next temporary accommodation booking was on the other side of Galway City to the Airbnb I had been staying at for the past week. It was raining, so rather than catch buses across town, I called a taxi. My new accommodation was a room in a sharehouse, in the Gort na Glaise estate on the Sandy Road. The Airbnb reviews had been mixed, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. Upon my arrival, I retrieved my key from the lock box by the front door and found the bedroom I had been allocated upstairs. I was delighted to discover a light-filled room overlooking the common green, with a double bed and a desk. The house was newly renovated and the kitchen was fully equipped with appliances and utensils. The location was great, with a bus stop across the street and walking distance to grocery stores and the city centre. I was already feeling better, and was looking forward to doing some writing at the desk in my room over the next few days. I soon met two of the other guests, whom were very respectful of the communal space.
Although I was settling into my new accommodation nicely, I knew I could feel even more settled, if only I could secure a job. I hadn’t heard back about the roles I had interviewed for. I really thought I had a shot with the sweater store at least. I was starting my customer care job at the Galway Races the following week, and so far this was my only job prospect. I would apply for some more jobs over the weekend- there were other opportunities available through the event customer care job, a retail merchandising job and a temporary position with the postal service. I had also considered sending my resume out to various circus schools around the country. I could only try.
I was still waiting for a date for my appointment to obtain a Personal Public Service Number, my tax number for Ireland. I would have to travel back to Dublin for the appointment, and was hoping I would have a date by the end of the following week. If not, I considered heading to Kinvara for a week, if I could find an Airbnb, to do some more book research for the setting of my novel.
I was feeling more comfortable with the idea of casual work, as it would allow me more time and flexibility to possibly work some circus gigs and take some classes, run some writing events and, of course, work on the book.
I still couldn’t shake the feeling that the temporary nature of my working holiday authorisation was hindering my chances at securing a decent job. I longed for some consistency in work and accommodation, even if it was just for a few months over the summer. The job application process was crushing my soul- this was not the intention I wanted to be putting out there when I applied for roles, but I still felt so afraid and doubtful deep down. I wondered how I could honour these feelings without giving them power. Deep down, I did want to be in Ireland for the whole year. I did want it to work out. I did want to earn a living wage doing work that utilised my talents. I wanted to thrive, not just survive.
Kate Kelsen 