So let me ask you something. You're working a teaching job that has been a drag for years and which has now become something you dread. You dreamed of teaching, trained for it, and you're good at. It has just become overwhelming and you don't respect the school system, the Regents, or Department of Education. You want out.
The troubles are that it's a bad time to be looking for work and you don't feel qualified to do anything else. You almost feel like you could write, but where's the money and are you good enough? There has to be a way out of this job and into something you like, but you're forty-five years old, have kids and a wife, a house with a mortgage, and the responsibilities of an adult. These things have scared you enough to stick you in place.
I was going to ask you something, so here it is: What do you do? I would appreciate an answer so I can get on with my life. I've been thinking for a couple years and gotten nowhere. Most of the problem is fear. I think and wish, but I don't do anything. There's an old saying: wish in one hand, crap in the other and see which fills up first. I have an empty hand and one overflowing with crap. Maybe I wasn't supposed to take things so literally.
This week I'm trying to act. I've revised my resume and searched for jobs I might be able to do. A friend says teaching trains you for anything other than neurosurgery and changing the oil in the car. This leaves a wide range of things for which I feel no aptitude whatsoever. My friend has more confidence than I have. I have handfuls of crap and wishes.
So far the job search has turned up two possibilities, both of which I'm applying for. The first has no chance of supporting the family and it conflicts with my current hours. The second is likely a placeholder for jobs to be filled in August. Still, just applying will be a victory for me. I keep resisting, putting it off, trying to save myself from rejection. That's the path I've taken for a decade. How's it working out, you might ask. Check out my hands.
I'm still waiting on you to tell me my new career. I'm a little pissed it's taking you this long. Then again, I'm not really talking to you. This is more a note to the part of me that ought to be confident but which needs to be forced out of hiding and given a shot of courage. It also needs to wash its hands. We're making quite a mess of the keyboard.
I wish that there was a miracle cure. I wish I didn't have to go back to work tomorrow. But without a new job in sight there's little else to do but go to work again tomorrow, scour the classifieds, get others involved, and write on.