As I write, it is the quiet of pre-dawn in the mountains of Pennsylvania. The only noise, aside from the muted thunking of my keyboard, is the hum of the refrigerator. The skies are grey-blue through the window, and the budding-yet-still-naked tree limbs, outside. I now hear one faint bird, off in the distance.
I awoke this morning from a deep sleep to ponder my future. I am here in the Appalachian woods with my wife while she is on a business trip of sorts. She is a missionary, and part of that job is raising funds to continue to work, mostly from churches and the individuals within them. I am here to support her in any way I can, usually emotionally, but also to meet people important to her work and life that I haven’t met yet. Living in Texas as we do, we don’t get up this way very often.
But my own work position is no less precarious. I was laid off, as I’ve written before, from my Human Resources position, and have yet to secure another job. I have been thinking about what to do, and in which direction to go, ever since. I don’t have any direct answers, but I have a few feelings about what to do.
I graduated university with a degree in English Literature and Writing (it was a dual focus). Mostly that is an unemployable degree, as I have found. Even were I to teach, I would need either a higher degree, or a certificate to go with it. On it’s own, it isn’t quite useful to be an English Major. Oh it awarded me several useful skills, such as the ability to write coherently and well, how to research and compile information, and how to be organized in the presentation of that research. But directly hirable? Not as much.
But lately a worm has been burrowing into my brain, a bookworm, if you’ll allow the conceit. This worm I cannot dig out without causing harm to my cerebral grey and white brain cells. This worm says to stop looking for a job and pursue the one I have: writing. I have many pent-up words just waiting to spill out, and this worm seems intent on excavating them and letting them out into the world.
But this new thought terrifies me. My wife and I are dependent already on the generosity of others. My employment was shoring that up; supplementing her support. Without my income, how will we survive? The bills still want to be paid, especially the mortgage, and the grocer, and those that hold the title to my car, among others no less important. So what am I do? Can I cease looking for outside employment and sit down at my desk to write full time, with no guarantee of publication or income? How could I ask my wife to shoulder that burden? I have already been working part time, and had no left over mental energy for writing, so I doubt I could do both.
But still the worm burrows, ever deeper, ever more entwined within the tendrils of my cerebral cellular network. I don’t know what do to, and I certainly don’t have an answer at this time. Only questions, desires, and a thought that won’t perish.
What I will do, for now, is branch off of this blog a new one in which to collect the beginnings of some of these thoughts. I’ve recently been reading Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, a book on writing and life. I read parts of it in university, and it is partially responsible for planting the worm in my brain (along with a conversation with one of my wife’s supporters). Anne strongly suggests a daily writing habit, terrible first drafts, and small windows through which to peer at the world. This second blog will be all those things. I hope. I don’t know. So much about this is unknown, and that, too, is frightening.
One thought I cannot stop is that this job loss is an opportunity to try something new, something different, and put everything I have into it. I don’t know if it will work, I am no prognosticator, but it is exciting to contemplate. So here’s a call: if you want to support my wife, send me an email and we can talk, but beyond that, if you want to support my efforts, be on the lookout for a new blog announcement coming soon, where you can read my terrible first drafts of thoughts and give me feedback.
For now, I have a few more days in Pennsylvania before heading back to Texas in which to deal with this little bookworm burrowed deep in my brain.
a simple man 