Let’s start where we left off. I’m officially at my second safe house, cat dander-free and thriving, and I’ve had so much time to think, write, try new things, and apply to roughly 1,000 jobs. But something peculiar has been happening, and I wonder if you’ve ever experienced this yourself: I can’t, for the life of me, get hired for a low-paying, entry-level position.
Now, I know. I’m the only Sheridan Guerrette in this world, and at least 700 of you already know that I am that bitch—F A M O U S—but still, I have not been able to land a single hostess or server gig since I was eighteen.
I’ve been here before. When my CEO suddenly passed away, I lost everything: a mentor, a paycheck, and a promising career. During that time, while applying for salaried roles, I sent out applications to every server, hostess, and front desk position imaginable just to keep my income flowing. I was denied left and right. I tried adjusting my resume and excluding any titles and responsibilities that might make a hiring manager feels small in comparison. Still, rejection.
Even at the intermediate level, it’s been the same story. One major nonprofit told me outright: “You’re too motivated. You’ll get a better offer soon.” And they were right about that. But what most people don’t understand about me is that my motivation has never come from money. (Shoes don’t count.) I’m driven by the desire to produce good work, for others, for a mission, for something that actually matters.
Give me $70,000 a year doing meaningful work over $250,000 doing something soulless.
Every. Single. Fucking. Time.
Maybe it’s just how I’m wired, but I’ve never understood how power and money make some people’s morals dim. For me, the opposite happens: the more power, the more money, the stronger my sense of responsibility becomes. Maybe it’s because I finally have the confidence and means to do something about things I witness or come across. Every story of challenge and triumph I’ve lived through has started the same way: my morals refused to stay on the sidelines. I had to step in, to make it right, to make it work, for everyone. I don’t care about credit or recognition; I care about fixing what’s broken.
So yes, I’ve applied to biker bars, regular bars, swanky bars, and everything in between. I’ve toned down the gold jewelry, relaxed my diva wardrobe, and even tailored each résumé to sound a little more… approachable. I even threw a bit of dumbness into one interview for good measure.
What I really want, though, is balance. To keep writing and help grow someone’s business, venture, or little corner of the world. Maybe that’s as a consultant, or maybe it’s behind the bar of a biker dive, honestly, I’d take either right now.
It’s just hard to pin down a résumé when you’ve been everywhere. For a minute, I had the itch to prove myself in every possible arena. I wanted to see if I could take what I know about business and drop it anywhere—startups, logistics, fashion, hospitality—and still make it work. And honestly? I did. But now I’m wondering if that little experiment has run its course. Maybe the quest continues, maybe it’s time I turn back to my true love, hospitality. I don’t know yet. But either way, I’ll be continuing to write to you every week.
Since being away from the city, I’ve written more poems than I can count. My nails aren’t even red (gasps). I’m wearing sweatpants and sweatshirts (I know—who am I?), and I’ve been diving deeper into my all-natural self.
As I told you before, I recently learned that my thousands of poems I’ve written over the years are organized into perfectly rhythmic formats. Well, I have around twenty fully finished demo songs, and there’s one in particular that I wrote, which is well... quite cheesy.
I won’t be pitching this song. It’s not Grammy material, but it’s maybe Hallmark gold. It’s the kind of song that plays quietly in the background of a farm-town romance flick. And honestly, I’m okay with that. Since I’m not pitching it, I’m releasing it under my name.
This song, Honey and Hay, was originally a poem, like all of my tracks. I wrote this when I was questioning whether or not I was meant to be in the city or the country. It’s definitely the city, but still, it’s a fun, cute song.
Until next week, I’ll be writing, teaching myself to sing again, and exploring everything the world has in store for me. Maybe I’ll find the next version of myself somewhere between a love song and a job application, or perhaps I already have. Either way, I’ll keep chasing the kind of days that make good stories.
Whatever it is, I’ll be back here next week.
xo,
Sheridan Guerrette
WhatSheridanSaid.com
Life Behind the Artist: Wed at 9/8C
NOTICE:
If you are dealing with something threatening, dangerous, or just deeply unsettling, please don’t ignore it. Don’t gaslight yourself into thinking it’s “not that bad.” It is that bad. You deserve to feel safe walking into your grocery store, into your home, into your life. There are resources out there: the National Domestic Violence Hotline (1-800-799-7233 or text START to 88788), RAINN for sexual assault support (1-800-656-4673), and your local courthouse or legal aid office if you need to explore a protective order. Tell your friends, loop in your people, document everything. You are not overreacting. You are not alone. And if you needed a sign to take your safety seriously, let this be it.
