Home and Work

Childhood

I find myself back home at 30, nestled in the house where I spent my childhood years. The familiarity of these surroundings offers both comfort and disorientation. While I am grateful for the sanctuary my childhood home provides, I am also aware of the urge to move forward and establish my own independent life (again). Yet, amidst the longing for autonomy, I can’t shake the sensation of regressing, as if my recent strides towards self-reliance are suspended in time, waiting for me to catch up. Because, when I’m home, I don’t feel like an adult.

Standing in the yard near the garden, a memory floods back with intensity. The trees lining the road are as tall as 8-year-old me. The horseshoe pits transport me to a time when my worries were simpler, my stature smaller, and my dreams focused on becoming a hunter of poachers. I am a child again, grappling with emotions I couldn’t comprehend, waiting for my mother’s verdict on my misbehavior at school. The weight of her disappointment lingers as she reluctantly hosts a visiting foreign teacher, masking her frustration with polite civility. The house is in its original form as a 1950s ranch. My brother and I share a room. But soon, like me, the trees will grow, and the house will develop.

College

Returning to the present, I gaze out of the bay window at the tall trees that now obscure the road, symbols of growth and transformation mirroring my own journey. Inside the house, I’m searching for work at the kitchen island, still not sure exactly what it is I’d like to do. I have gone from assistant museum director to teacher to videographer. I’m torn between jobs that match up with a creative writing and political science degree or, going with my heart, doing something with my hands. Over two weeks – going on three – I’ve applied to at least a dozen positions ranging from writing, videography, electrical apprenticeships, sales, and customer service.

The only job I know I don’t want is a computer-intensive one. I don’t want to be sitting on my ass all day. I want to be active in some way. But choosing an active role makes me wonder why I got a college degree. Why am I $15,000 in debt if I’m not even using what I learned? I remind myself that those credits are what certified me to teach English and History. I remind myself that college was more about finding myself and making friends than courses on British Literature or Marine Biology. I remind myself of the “Failed Assassinations” series my friend and I write while our least favorite professor rambles about the Puritan influence on whatever book we only had to read 50 pages of. How do I reconcile my academic pursuits with my yearning for tangible, fulfilling labor? I bring myself back to the present – to new job prospects.

Options

One job was with a friend’s company. I was truly hoping that would pan out. HVAC and electric skills and my schooling for a journeyman’s license paid for. Hell, I met some of the folks and it seemed solid. I had high hopes. But even with a call a week after I submitted my application – nothing. I had put a hold on other job applications, anticipating this one was it. Job applications can be a roller coast of excitement and disappointment. One moment you’re receiving a request for an interview. The next, you see four emails telling you that the entry-level copywriting positions you applied for “require more experience.”

My parents and I chat one night. My dad sits in his lazy boy. His tv remotes and this upcoming week’s grocery deals at Shaw’s, Hannafords, and IGA are on a chair next to him. Mom sits in a matching recliner, her old laptop sitting on the entertainment system next to her. The laptop was old, but it runs ten times faster than Dad’s ancient PC. I need to buy him a new one.

“You’re stubborn, you know,” Dad says.

“Stubborn?” I’m taken aback.

“Permission to speak freely?” He always asks this before saying something that “might get me [him] in trouble.”

“Go for it.”

“I don’t know why you don’t go back to teaching. Summer’s off. Holidays and weekends. Benefits.”

To explain why I left in the first place isn’t even worth it. I don’t feel that my parents truly understand the depression I was in. They don’t understand my need for a break. I wait for them to say more.

“Every kid I ever met said you were their favorite teacher,” Mom chimes in.

“That’s cause they got to walk all over me. I’m not mature or ready to go back. Someday, maybe, but not now.” That’s a good answer, right?

I spend the remainder of the evening pondering if I should go back to teaching. I scroll through listings online. I check what I need to do since my certifications lapsed. I stop myself for bedtime, reminding myself why I left: I lost my mojo. So I go back to the other areas. I felt that having a set career path – electric – was a good plan. But my dad calls it narrow-mindedness… Am I supposed to still accept everything my parents say at 30? No, I should have my own ideas by now.

I hop back into the job pool, diving deep. I browse LinkedIn, search Indeed, study State work, find Federal employment. I hover over areas in Google Maps, finding companies that sound interesting. I don’t spend all day swimming; I take out energy at the gym or writing. And I read before bed. Those are the only other productive things I can think of lately. It’s either that or playing video games.

Another position floats my fancy: sales representative for the alcoholic beverage industry. I apply. Within an hour, a recruiter has me take a cognitive and behavioral quiz. I schedule a phone call the next day. We talk for an hour and things go well. An unexpected and gladly accepted base salary. I am waiting for the next step - a conversation with the regional sales manager.

Next Steps

We live in a society where you have to work to live. My dream is to have a home of my own, a family, and some land. I would like the option to work, but not the requirement to work. That’s a lot of peoples’ dreams, I imagine. So I wonder if there’s a way to get there. How do I not have to work for 35-40 more years until retirement? We don’t all live to see retirement, so no sense in putting off what life has to offer before 65.

For me, I’ve had the luck and timing to buy two homes at a good price and eventually sell them for almost twice as much. My first house allowed me to start a video business and pay the downpayment for the second house. And the second house has allowed me to explore Europe for three months without financial concerns. Not everyone has these opportunities. So I wonder how is it I can “retire” early. Or at least not have to work for 67,000 hours (that’s 40 hours a week for 35 years).

Ironically, my next steps are to get a job (at least to tide me over) and an apartment. Talk about returning to society, eh? I need something that allows me to work with my hands, interact with people, and still do my Civil War reenactments. But my dream will remain: not having to work my life away. Sure, there’s time off and vacations, but they feel so rare and barely enough.

As I take my next steps, seeking employment and settling into a new home, I remain committed to carving out a life filled with purpose, passion, and the freedom to savor every moment. For in the end, it’s not just about working less, but about living more fully, embracing the richness of life’s experiences, and cherishing the precious gift of time.