A Day Late and A Line or Two Over

The big break in journalism I waited a year for came to me this evening. It just came two months too late.

I had been eying a job at the Concord Monitor for at least that long, either as a business writer or a general assignment/jack of all trades reporter. From my perspective (and supported by my colleague at the time) the paper was just what I needed to accelerate the growth trajectory that would one day take me to a major metropolitan daily. It's one of the best small papers in the country, with reporters leaving there to go big places, in one of the great small cities in the greatest region of the country: New England.

It also happened to be where my best friend lives and would have required a relatively short move.

Unfortunately, my covetousness coincided with one of the worst recessions ever for newspapers and subsequently turned off the spigot for any hiring except at the highest and lowest of levels. So I sat put, waiting for things to improve. And then New York happened.

So when someone approached me with the FYI that the Monitor was looking for a reporter, I felt a twinge of jealousy. The sadness could have been brushed off if I hadn't just learned that another interesting opportunity to write for a Boston-based public policy magazine was available, or if I hadn't received a phone call from a New York-based financial website looking for my services (which I cannot provide now since I am currently under contract for the next 10 months.)

John's sarcastic quip when I told him about the Monitor position: "Well if you want it that badly, we could invest in a plane because that would be a real bitch to drive every weekend."

I laughed, but it was true. All of these opportunities are out of the question now.

It's hard to know what the appropriate emotion is. I'd be foolish and deceitful if I said I wasn't the slightest bit bitter about the situation. Journalism is a nasty, grueling job, but there are parts of it I definitely miss and I know I could still do it and do it pretty darn well if I had the right opportunity. There are days when I'm confident I'll be back in the saddle again sometime soon, but there are other days like today when I wonder if this layoff will erase some of the gains I worked so hard at an early age to earn.

My frustration with my current job and the lack of intellectual stimulation does not help the situation.

(Just as I wrote that paragraph with my butt on the couch and my feet on the ottoman, John crawled up like a kitten and laid his head on my shoulder. "Whatcha doin?" he asked in his funny four-year-old tone.)

Bitterness changes to melancholy with an anxious tincture, though, when I remember my mother's signature saying modified by my cynicism: True liberation is about the ability to make choices, but for every choice you make to do something you choose not to do something else.

I chose long ago to be in a relationship with someone for the rest of my life. Economists agree the emotional, mental and financial stability associated with a serious, monogamous, long-term relationship provides benefits that far exceed any other single life decision, whether it be personal or professional. This I would never give up. Yet I acknowledge this choice therefore rules out other choices, like going for things on a whim and living the vagabond life I might have imagined as a wide-eyed teenager. I could have my cake and eat it too, like the women's lib folks would have me believe, but in my mind the consequences would be unacceptable.

Wondering what life could have been, or should be, or will be on my current path is one of the more frustrating parts of living a life ever-examined. If I have sacrificed greatness for contentment, so be it, an exhilarating and exhausting lifestyle for dirty dishes and trips to Bed Bath and Beyond, all is well. For when the fame and success and money fade -- as it always does -- I know I have someone to come home to.