I’m a personal assistant and I don’t know how I got here. Every choice I made in the last year was with the expressed desire of not being an assistant anymore, much less the dreaded personal assistant. When I finished my job as a showrunner’s assistant for the show, Future Man, I vowed that the next time I went into a writer’s room, I would be staffed as a writer. No more support staff for me. It didn’t occur to me to rule out personal assistant jobs. That was a given. People take those jobs with the hope of getting closer to a writer’s room. I now had writer’s room experience. It wouldn’t be hard to get another job as a writer’s room assistant. But I didn’t want it.
Taking such a firm stance required a great deal of sacrifice. Financially, I was just able to keep my head above water. I got by with a lot of help from my friends. And eventually, things got better. I developed a reputation for being an overall competent person, so a lot of freelance assignments came my way. I created targeted ads on Instagram, I babysat and tutored, and I even coordinated a wedding in Joshua Tree. Then, a friend asked me to be the coordinator for her new podcasting company. That job paid my rent. And on the weekends, I would spend the whole day with that friend, helping out with her kids, so I was able to have money for the rest of my bills.
I was comfortable. I was not desperate for income anymore. Also, in the course of this year, I got representation. I have managers and a host of other writer friends in my network who are constantly recommending me as a writer and circulating my writing samples. The idea that I would be staffed soon stopped seeming like a Hail Mary desire. It was an approaching reality.
But now I’m a personal assistant. I’m thinking back over the past couple of months and trying to figure out how this happened. I feel bamboozled. I think the opportunity came to me in a vulnerable moment. For a couple of months prior to me finding out about this job, I had been hustling to get staffed on the show Russian Doll. I was doing everything in my power to get on the creators’ radar. I was able to finesse my way into the production company where I met the executive over the show. She liked me and I had a little hope to cling to for a bit, but in the end, there was no space for me. Spaces I could have filled were already occupied by people the creator already had a relationship with.
It hurt to have worked so hard for something and to hit that wall. I’ve been out here too long to be so naive as to put all my eggs in one basket, but still I did it. And I paid the price. When that door locked me out permanently, I felt lost. I texted my sister to say that I felt out of options. Truth was, something wasn’t feeling right on the inside. All that expended effort was my attempt to ward off the creeping feeling that I didn’t really care about being staffed. My ego wanted it because I wanted to hold that job above my head and wave it about, “See? All of this chaos and uncertainty of the last two years was worth it. I did it! Look at me, I did it.” Being a staff writer would set me on a path and I wanted to get back on the path. It’s been a long five years in the wilderness.
But deep in my core, I didn’t really care about being staffed and seeing my career unfurl in that expected way. I’m a little scared about what that means, so I have not really dwelled too much on it. For this reason, I’m going to glide over this aspect. To be revisited at a later time.
Shortly after I got the news that there was not going to be a place for me in the room for Russian Doll, I reconnected with a woman that I had met the year before when I had interviewed to be her replacement. Then, she was an assistant and now she is a creative executive. She told me about the personal assistant job. She didn’t have many details, just the name of the person. I knew the person — respected their work — so I was interested. Besides, most things don’t work out in this industry. What would be the point of closing a door that was going to slam shut on its own soon enough? I figured that if I made it to the interview, I’d at least get to meet someone I admired and have a good conversation.
So I said yes, sent along my resume, and promptly forgot about it. Things escalated quickly. Someone called on the person’s behalf to explain that the job was part-time and that it was of a personal nature: errands and such. Was I still interested? I explained that I was currently working part time at a podcast network and freelancing for about five other people. This job would just cut out the five other people. Then I’d be down to two jobs. More manageable.
Then, the person called. We chatted for a few minutes and made plans to meet that weekend. I went to their house the following Sunday afternoon. Here is where things took an inexplicable turn. We chatted for a bit before the person got real frank. They liked me, but my desire to be a writer combined with my two degrees made me seem like a bad choice. They needed help and it was clear that I aspired to do more, be more. Soon enough, a better choice would come along for me and I would leave them high and dry.
This conversation paralleled an interview I had had a few months before. I really connected with the person, but I saw them look at me at one point and thought to myself, “I’m not going to get this job. They see that I’m too ambitious.” And I was okay with that. I did nothing to change the perception. When the rejection came a few days later, I didn’t flinch. I was just delighted that the person had taken the time to write the email themselves. That never happens. Especially for someone at that level.
But this day, I found myself fighting for the job. As I was doing so, I felt like I was outside of my body, watching my spirit come alive for this job and all I could think was, “Dre, why you so pressed to be a go-fetch person? We don’t need this job.” But there I was, persuading them to hire me. The conversation moved on and we talked about other things. At the end, they looked at me and said, “I’m torn. There is a part of me that wants to say give me your samples and let me help you find a writing job, but I need the help.” Silence and then, continuing, “You tell me what to do. You decide.”
“I got you. I promise.”
So I was hired part-time. At the end of the first week, I was praised for being intuitive and thoughtful. Two weeks later, I was asked to commit to being full-time for a year. I agreed. The first assistant transitioned out and now I’m a full-time personal assistant.
I have to make a conscious effort to not think about the big picture. I have to discipline myself to take it one day at a time. If I spend too much time thinking about what it all means, I become hysterical and get the urge to burst into tears.
Many things about this job give me pause. First and foremost, I still don’t have a car. My job is to run errands. That’s the whole gig. I only have a bus pass. I’m ill-prepared for the tasks of the day and I feel incompetent more often than not. I have a friend who is generous with her car when I’m most in need and I’m grateful for her help, but mercy, I hate asking for it.
Then there are the larger implications that niggle at me when I am alone, of which there are three:
- I think that it is my brokenness that makes me good at this job. I spent most of my life trying to earn love through my actions. Since I was a child, I have trained myself to care for others with the hope that they would come to love and care for me in return. I have only recently disabused myself of the notion that I can earn love. And yet, the skill set remains. I’m disgusted with the person I was and I want to put distance between me and that version of myself and I can’t seem to do so. No matter how hard I try, I end up in these caretaker roles.
- I worry that all of the work that I have done to nurture my self-love will be undone by this job. At least in all of my other relationships, it is not unfathomable to expect some degree of reciprocity. But in this relationship, it’s all about me giving to this person and expecting nothing in return. That’s the job. I spend all of my time thinking about how to serve them better and they don’t have to consider me at all. It’s the nature of the course I have chosen. I made a promise to myself that I would start prioritizing myself, but that pledge seems incongruent with this job. This job that I did not need to take. And still chose.
- I am disappointed. For the past five years, I have been on a journey of self-love and I thought the road was going to carry me to a different place. I didn’t think I’d end up here doing the same stuff I was doing back when I neglected myself. It feels different, but it looks the same and I can’t stop thinking about the appearance. I thought when I learned to love myself, I was going to either find relationships that were worth pouring myself into or I was going to be wise enough to keep to myself. I thought I’d be out here living my best life, living for myself, but no, I just made a commitment to serve this other person. For reasons I don’t fully understand.
I am scared and I’m sad. But also, certain. I love this person. Not because of anything they’ve done or because of who they are. I just love them. And I know that I’m supposed to be here for them right now. That’s what I know for sure. That is the one thing I cling to when these other thoughts press in. And I hope that shred of knowledge is enough to get me through.
When & Why I Enter 