Millennial Icarus has a Masterâs degree. He applies for a graduate job. He is rejected without being offered so much as feedback on his CV. He applies for another graduate job, at a slightly less prestigious firm. The result is the same. Another. The same. Wash, rinse, repeat. He remembers the advice his tutor gave him: âthe job market is saturated with people like you. Thatâs just how it is. Donât be ashamed to apply for entry level positions and work your way up. You donât always have to aim high.â He puts his degree certificate in his desk drawer, looks at it guiltily, and turns the key. He applies for five jobs one afternoon; in shops, bars, offices. Decent, paid work. He is rejected four times without recall, and once on his way out of the building after a decent enough interview. The weeks pass. He applies. He is rejected. Wash, rinse, repeat. Icarusâ shoes, the smart, shiny black ones he bought in preparation for meetings with potential employers, gather dust at the bottom of his wardrobe. And he forgets the rest of the advice his tutor gave him: âyou are worth more than just your time. Never settle for somewhere that wonât recompense you. Donât let them use you. You can aim too low, too.â He applies for an unpaid internship; six months, no salary, no expenses, an hour commute, no job guarantee. He loses the key to his desk drawer. The shoes he bought gather more dust; he wonât wear them, they look ridiculous, shoes which cost money to go to a job which pays none. He remembers that his tutor told him:Â âif you aim too high, youâll only fall further.â He forgets that his tutor told him: âif you aim too low, youâll never crawl your way back up.â And Millennial Icarus never falls, because he never flies.
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