I’ve worked plenty of jobs in my life. More than I would care to admit.
Between my first job during senior year of high school and my current position (where I’ve been for over six and a half years), throughout those nearly two decades, I’ve had three dozen jobs.
I mean that quite literally; I actually spent a half hour searching my memory as I made the list.
Thirty six jobs exactly. And I may have even forgotten a couple of them.
And every single one of them were crap. Okay, maybe one or two of them were at least tolerable.
I suppose that as a young man, other than being impatient, one of my worst qualities was that I was incapable of putting up with bullshit of any kind.
So I became an expert job-jumper.
I worked at nearly a dozen and a half restaurants, a handful of times as a cook but primarily as a food server/waiter.
I also managed to somehow work every kind of telemarketing job under the sun (most of which at the time, I’d been too ashamed to admit to even my own mother).
Even with a B.A. in English from Northern Illinois University, I still chose to work, at least what I perceived to be, dead-end jobs.
I did this because there was still a tiny voice inside my head that spoke to me every day. And that voice told me that I still wanted to be a writer.
That I needed to be one.
At least on a subconscious level, I probably rationalized in my own mind that if I found myself a ‘real job’ then the moment that happened, my desire for a career as a professional writer would disappear forever.
So, over the course of fourteen years I wrote six screenplays, working a barely-tolerable job every step of the way.
And then in 2004 I found my current job.
Since there are a manager or two from work who are actively reading this blog (thanks guys!) I won’t go into specifics but I work at a stable company in south Phoenix as an accounts manager in the financial industry.
Just a year after I began my current position, through persistence, desire, and plenty of hard work, I literally doubled my income.
Hands down, it was far and away the most money that I’ve ever made in my life.
And as if things couldn’t get any better for me at my j-o-b, over a period, I actually became so good at it, that it actually became effortless, and absolutely second nature to me.
Quite honestly, it was the easiest job that I’ve ever had. Life was great. I was truly blessed.
Since then, with my monthly bonuses, I’ve been able to maintain not only an excellent income but a consistent one as well.
Then came January 1st of this year.
The company began to implement some major changes that ultimately, forced me to take a long hard look at my life.
Suddenly, it seemed that my company’s number one priority became self-preservation.
I could certainly appreciate that, especially with the economy in the toilet for the past two years.
But before I knew what had even hit me, my very nice bonuses that I had taken for granted for nearly five years, within three months they were nearly cut in half.
I had no choice but to do what so many other Americans had been forced to do: cut expenses, save, and budget, all at the same time.
As I found myself in this precarious situation, I realized that I really had been in a different place over the past four years.
I had been living inside of my comfort zone. But I knew if this book ever had a snowball’s chance of getting finished, I knew that I had to get out of there ASAP.
For me, life in the comfort zone had been good for a long time, maybe too good.
I’d forgotten what it was like to have to struggle to pay a bill, cut coupons, or cook dinner at home rather than eating out at a nice restaurant several times a week.
My dreams and desire to write (or rather finish) my Great American Love Story seemed to vanish the moment I cashed my first big bonus check from work.
So in many ways I’m counting my blessings. I’m doing the best with what I have but I’m also writing these days, more than I have been in many, many years.
And it’s not for the big paycheck although that would be nice.
It took me a long time to realize that money isn’t the most important thing. What is important, I’ve learned, are things like a good home, a great family, and a circle of friends that you’re able to count on 24/7, no matter what.
And being able to appreciate the simple things in life. Yes, that includes the little things, too.
After losing my house through a short sale and getting divorced two years ago (I considered myself very fortunate that I didn’t have any kids with her), it dawned on me that until I have a kid of my own someday, my book is my baby.
So. . . until I’m holding the real McCoy in my arms, I suppose that A Kiss in Times Square will have to do.
I’ll nurture, love, and spend quality time with it. Every single day until it’s finished.
And hopefully, when it’s done and full grown, I’ll be proud of it.
I’ll love it unconditionally. As only a father can love a son.