My husband is a model-railroad aficionado, so railroad terminology is common around our household. That's why I like to think of my yearlong search to find a new position in campus public relations as having reached the end of the line. The train has pulled into the station and eased to a halt. I have disembarked, stretched my weary bones, and unpacked my bags. Let me recap my journey and my final destination.
A year ago this summer I quit my job as director of communications for a small, liberal-arts Christian college, partly because of a dreadful commute and partly because the work was less than challenging. My options were somewhat limited geographically by the fact that I am married to the president of a local community college. I can't work for his college, and other local institutions have found that my working for them might pose a conflict of interest. As I have chronicled my search, over the past year, I have done a lot of soul searching, as many people do when they embark on such a journey. It has taken me on a wild and bumpy ride:
-
I interviewed for an assistant deanship with a distance-education institution. The result was a gentle admonition that I needed more experience. Duly noted.
-
I interviewed for a position as director of a consortium of colleges and ended up the second-best candidate.
-
I took a hairpin turn: I interviewed for a position as marketing director of a publishing company but elected not to go in that direction.
-
I examined my surroundings and concluded that sometimes it is not always easy to be the wife of a college president. I decided that while most people judge you on your own merits, some judge you on your entire package (including your spouse) and make assumptions that might not necessarily be fair. That's OK, I like the package.
-
I also spent a lot of time doing freelance work and volunteering. I edited three books, developed a Web site, and wrote a couple of magazine articles (yet to be published). I also helped to run a mayoral campaign, worked with our downtown farmer's-market committee, served as a mentor for a third-grade student, and helped to develop a much-needed library for my church.
And when I wasn't busy with all of that I supervised a kitchen remodel and oversaw the development and puppy training of our third dog -- which often felt like a full-time job in and of itself.
Around the beginning of June, I applied for a marketing position at a community college where I had been turned down for a previous job. A member of the earlier search committee had liked my credentials and experience, thought he saw a fit, and encouraged me to apply for the new opening. In fact, when he had called to tell me that I hadn't gotten the first job, he suggested that I apply for this one down the road. At the time, I felt he was blowing smoke to temper my bruised ego.
I liked the job description from the outset. I would do career education, program development, community outreach, marketing, and grant writing. It would involve both significant interaction with the community and the writing time that I crave. In other words, it was a nice mix of all of the things that I had been looking for, in just the location I wanted.
And the shorter commute that I had been holding out for? This one would be a breeze, down a less-populated highway, 20 minutes from home. Oh yes, the salary was nice, too. I held my breath, said a prayer, and sent in my application.
I waited an excruciatingly long two months while the college reviewed applications (what in heaven's name takes so long?). I even turned down a teaching job for an online college in anticipation of a potential conflict.
Out of patience, I finally e-mailed the human-resources department to ask what was happening with the search. It turned out the administrator who had encouraged me to apply didn't think I was so suited for the position after all. I didn't even get an interview.
Needless to say, I was very disappointed. In fact, I cried. "What is wrong with you?" I said to myself. "It is exactly one year and two months after you quit your job, and you are in exactly the same place. Why can't you get a job? This has never happened before."
Determined to shake off my angst, I strapped on my Nikes and took a long walk sans dogs so that I could think clearly. Distracted at first, I ran over the day's agenda: do laundry, devote an hour or two to bookkeeping and bill paying, pick up dog food, stop at the pharmacy for a prescription, take my daily trip to the supermarket, and, if I was lucky, maybe squeeze in a nap.
As I walked my daily three-mile trek, I nodded hello to a neighbor, spent some time visiting with another, marveled at the cannas blooming in a yard down the block, and generally took some time to smell the proverbial roses.
By the time, I had finished my walk and was about a block from home, it was ever so obvious to me. Whenever I was working, what I really wanted to be was home.
My husband's schedule is sometimes so hectic that I pray for time to spend with him. I want to be there when he comes home, rather than racing down a freeway, speeding into the grocery to pick up a meal that I could throw together, and hating the fact that my weekends were tied to running errands and catching up on housework.
"Hannah," I said to myself, "you need to count your blessings, and be honest with yourself. You like staying at home. Sure, it gets boring sometimes, but that's when you can fill your day with volunteer activities and other meaningful things. You have the answers to your prayers right in front of you."
The very next day, I got a call about an opening in the local city government. Several people in the community suggested that I apply. There were many red flags: The organization was in financial chaos, and the second-in-command was likely to apply for the job, which would mean that if not hired, she would likely be disgruntled. On the positive side, it would be an interesting job, and it was my local community.
For a few days, I thought about sending in my application. Then, walking through the soup aisle at the grocery store, I revisited my earlier talk with myself, and thought, "No thanks. I'll stay right where I am." I will continue to write and edit part-time, volunteer in the community, and take care of our home.
I know that my fellow columnists who track their job searches typically conclude by saying, "I've learned a lot about myself along the way." I wish that I could say something more profound than that, but I'm afraid that I, too, will have to conclude with those sentiments. Even though the journey wasn't all that pleasant at times, I'm grateful to have arrived at my destination wiser and more sure of myself than before.
