It seems that rumors are swirling around, here on Beaver Island.
Just coming out of a long winter, that’s not surprising.
It does surprise me when the talk is about me.
That is rare. I keep a low profile.
Rumors suggest that I am planning to leave Beaver Island; fed up, disappointed, I am moving away.
I worry about how that makes people feel.
Those people who have supported my endeavors, employed me, helped me when I’ve needed it. Those who’ve made sure I had heat, or transportation, or wine as the situation warranted it. Those who have been my friends.
Let me set the record straight.
Beaver Island and its people have not disappointed me.
This place has always felt like home to me; that has not changed.
I love almost everything about my life here.
However, I have been sending out resumes.
Well, more accurately, I sent out one resume…which led to a quick trip downstate for an interview, a nice chat with a group of hard-working administrators, and a kind letter of rejection.
And that’s okay.
I may send out more. I am looking into possibilities.
Over the years, I’ve come to many forks in the road, and made decisions based on what seemed most sensible at the time. Sometimes, the options were limited. It often seemed like other, outside, circumstances played a large role in the choices I made. There were always reasons.
But when are reasons only excuses?
How often did fear dictate my choice?
Or a desire to not move out of my comfort zone?
Recently, faced with the possibility of working in a career that would enable me to use my skills, education and capabilities in a creative manner, I realized how much I wanted to do that.
I also realized how weary I am of working without ever getting ahead. I’ve had some good jobs that allowed me to pay the bills, which is grand, and a big source of pride for me. But even in a job that kept me inside from dawn to dusk much of the year, I couldn’t actually afford to finish my house or take on a car payment. A roof repair, broken appliance or sick dog would throw my budget off for a year.
I’ve also been thinking that I would like to retire someday. I have done nothing to prepare for that.
So, I’ve been thinking of making a terrifying leap into a real career at this late stage.
I’m sixty years old. If I’m going to do something, the time is now.
But, the job market is not great, there are still limitations beyond my control, and I’m pretty old. The possibility is real that my endeavors will be met with other letters of rejection.
That’s okay, too.
I am not unhappy here. Not fed up with Beaver Island, not disappointed in its people.
I am happy to have a job, happy to serve, happy on Beaver Island.