Sebastian Abbott - Inbetween

The last day at work before the holidays back in December 2022 was also my last day of work at the company that employed me. Officially, I'm on gardening leave, so still on the payroll (though magically off headcount), until the end of March. The justification for letting me go was the increasingly common one of needing to reduce overheads to try and return the business to at least a vaguely profitable level in Europe. Similarly to Ford's announcement in Europe, expertise (residing in just a few, but perhaps expensive, engineers) is being retrenched into other regions. I won't write more on company politics and strategies, as I'm not at liberty to do so, but I can talk about how it affects me.

Nebulous ahead

Quite clearly, I can't see clearly yet where my future lies. If I'm to stay in the region, which is what we as a family all want, then it's unlikely that I'll stay in the automotive industry: this feels like a blessing, and matches my own burgeoning feelings about the industry of late: whilst still recognising their immense utility, I'm less enamoured of cars than I was, and am content to leave them to their own fate whilst I - ideally - work in another industry, in a direction more in tune with how I feel society could develop.

If that sounds nebulous, then it's less so than my own prospects and feelings about what lies ahead for me.

In this fog, there's a strange, rapid flickering of light between states of tremendous hope, interest and intrigue in where I'll end up, and concern. Will I involuntarily end up back in the automotive industry? Will I have to accept a punishing commute for a job that only half enthuses me? Will I even end up with a job at all, and will I be able to support my family?

That worst case scenario is far-fetched - but it is also not unimaginable, given the economy at present, and what's available in the Rhein-Neckar region around Heidelberg and Mannheim. The mere hint of "imaginability" is enough for this brain of mine, I'll admit. The only way out of those doldrums is to get active in terms of searching, and applying, for jobs. As it turns out, it's almost a full-time job in itself!

Setting boundaries, knowing my limits

The job of applying for jobs starts with needing to know where, what - and, importantly, not - to apply for. When I was interviewing for jobs after university, I ended up having to make an important decision during an assessment at what was then Lucas Aerospace (now part of TRW), for a position working on servo activation systems for aircraft. One of the pair of interviewers asked me if I was prepared to work on military projects. Amazingly, embarrassingly, it wasn't a topic that I had considered beforehand, and, puffing out cheeks, I admitted as much to them. After a quick - and remarkably calm, as I recall - thought-and-gut-check, I spoke out confidently against working on military projects. The interviewer who asked the question admitted that he had himself found it at times uncomfortable to be working on the motors that drive the helmet-linked front turret of a helicopter gunship: that's something that I would like to continue to avoid for the rest of my career.

(they offered me the job, but then had to retract, as Lucas was then bought out by TRW)

I have only now realised in this episode that I have two more boundaries: surgical instruments (because I really can't cope with the idea of cutting bodies, even if those operations are rather more life-saving than the military instruments I want to avoid), and junk, trinkets, anything that just "is" without having a purpose beyond being purchased and perhaps being beautiful or funny for someone.

The limits are also pretty clear: I'm not an electronics engineer, nor do I program software. I have no experience in biotech (a particular speciality of Heidelberg). So if any company from such fields were to take me on, it would be through acknowledging and appreciating my general engineering skills, rather than anything directly product-related.

Project management? I've done it, can do it, but I don't love it as a career. For me, a project management role could be an entry into an interesting field where I have no product experience, which I could gain in parallel to managing projects, without causing too much havoc - after which the company would recognise my abilities and give me a more technical role. Hopefully potential employers will read this after they've hired me (I love the job, boss, really!)

Know yourself to present yourself

Customising the cover letter turned out to be much more of an effort than I was expecting - and almost more for my own benefit than for the recruiter. Of course they will want to be reassured of my enthusiasm and potential appropriateness for a role, but a large part of the application process involves convincing myself that this could be a good fit for me. If I can't write a good cover letter, then it's probably for a good reason.

Consider the program manager role I mentioned above: writing the cover letter really is an exercise in arguing against the doubt that I could enjoy it. I would say (have written!) that I'm fascinated by the product and want to promote its introduction to customers in this way, and that working with teams of specialists is also a speciality of a generalist like me. For that sort of application, I tune the CV / resumé to put the emphasis more on my project roles than my product development experience.

If the job is in or adjacent to the industry you're already in, then the cover letter takes on another guise - that of proving your experience, explaining what you would bring to the new company, whilst (at least, for me a priority) assuring them that any trade secrets from the old employer that I don't divulge confirms my commitment to trust at the new.

I don't expect that to be an issue for me this time around. Treat the cover letter as a safeguard.

The interview

Writing these words now, I have an interview looming tomorrow. Once again, I feel my emotions flickering between hope and excitement, and fatalism: this time it's specific to this particular test, a simple pass / fail event. At least right now the doom scenario is not that I freeze or say stupid things during the interview; more that there'll be a more suitable candidate, one who has worked on that product for their whole lives and just want a change of scenery, if not geography. A positive sign for me is that I'm putting a lot of effort into the preparations for it: researching the company, trying to understand the product from what's available online, and considering the engineering perspectives and challenges that swarm around each and every product. It's a new product area for me, and the general aspects like proximity to home are very appealing, so I actively want the job - which generates the fears that I might not.

Whether my personality and experience will be enough, I have no idea. I'm also a little nervous about the fact that it'll be a video interview, rather than in-person: OK, I'm nervous about it being an interview at all, but that's par for the course.

The next interview... and the next

Having just written the above paragraph, I got a call inviting me to another interview at a totally different company next week. Will I feel any less nervous getting into an interview routine? If playing in concerts is anything to go by, I won't - not really.

But what does change is the feeling that tomorrow's interview is already my last-chance saloon. With that in mind, I can feel like there's less pressure on me - I can be less "desperate" about it and "play" it as I should a concert: concentrated, alert, but as relaxed as possible. Playing the trombone, I have to keep in mind the embouchure and sound: with the interview, it's the same - don't forget to smile, and enjoy it as much as I can. That way, the audience can relax and, hopefully, enjoy it, too...

It's always interesting

The whole situation has everything: worries and hopes, planning and intense activity, followed by the wait for results. It's interesting, if nothing else. And that's my default position for any job I end up doing: it'll be interesting, I will learn things and, if I get on well with the team and management, I'll thrive there.

If I don't get on, then... well, the cycle will begin again, but on my own terms, and in the full and recent knowledge of the effort that it takes.

If you, the reader, are in a similar situation, let us know your thoughts in the comments below, or on Mastodon, where I'm @DiversionsManifold@toot.io - and good luck!