I spent one night last weekend roaming up and down my street, lifting and carrying off my neighbors' big brown bags of raked leaves. At one point, with Bryony and Kika in the car (at one in the morning, no less), I jumped out, flipped open the trunk and started heaving huge bags of leaves inside. And then into the backseat next to Bryony's car seat. And in the passenger seat, almost on top of Kika. My heart was pounding, as I could already imagine the neighbor's porch light flicking on, a dark silhouette in the doorway, a shotgun branded, and a menacing voice saying, "What the hell do you think you're doing???". Okay, I live in suburban Michigan, not backwoods Arkansas, but still...I was scared. And so why was I willing to brave the wrath of my neighbors in the middle of the night for bags of leaves? I'm trying to get rid of the overabundance of weeds in my yard, and the best way to (naturally, sans pesticides) choke them out is with a thick layer of leaves. Once they're on the ground, I'll mow over them to make sure they are ground up and truly form a carpet over my lawn. I'm excited. Most people think I'm a little crazy. Well, I am a tree-hugging, vegetarian environmentalist, so the crazy label probably isn't too far off.
Part of this one a.m. skulking might just be a way to stop thinking about my current employment predicament...in that, I'm not gainfully employed. I'm love-LOVE-LOVING staying home with Bryony, but for our family, this arrangement just won't be financially feasible for much longer. So, I've been applying to different positions--had an interview a couple weeks ago, but didn't get the job--and am remaining fairly optimistic. But I realize that for every job I apply to, there are at least another 50-100 people applying to the same opening. In Adam's profession, it's even worse. He's been told that the State of Michigan gets 300-500 resumes for every legal position that's posted. What I've come to realize is that getting a job (particularly in this economy) has a lot to do with who you know. Most of my friends who have great jobs either had a friend who let them know about the position, a colleague who put in a good word for them, or a mentor who pulled strings. I have loads of good friends and while I'm not asking for or expecting any huge favors from them, I'm told the best way to get a job is to tell everyone you know that you're looking. So here you go...I'm looking for a job, preferably as a Wildlife Biologist, Ecologist, Program Manager, etc. at a state, federal, non-profit, or private agency/organization that does ecological/biological work. While Michigan would be the easiest place for me to work, since I already live here, I am willing to relocate for the right job.
One of the real downsides of pinching pennies and not spending money is that I've started to become very critical of our lifestyle, particularly now when I can't afford to do anything about it. I hate our living room furniture, which feels like stuff from my undergrad days. Consequently, I get really uptight when I visit the homes of people who have really nice stuff, and then I start to wonder why our situation is such that we can't afford to have nicer things. Then, I get upset with myself for being so shallow and materialistic; after all, I've always been the crunchy near-hippie who didn't care about that type of stuff, right? I guess some of Adam's prophecies are starting to ring true after all: The older you get, the more you care about your stuff...having it, keeping it, and getting more of it. I HATE that I'm even close to falling into that category of people, but I do admit that very unfortunately, I've started to worry about what other people think. It's an exercise in duality, because on the one hand, I LOVE our little house, but on the other hand, I HATE our neighborhood, the smallness of the house and how even one item out of place can make the whole house look messy. I love the idea of not caring what other people think, but I find myself increasingly concerned, especially as Adam and I are associating more with people who have money. I love the idea of not being materialistic and being content with what I have, and yet I find myself wishing my belongings were different, better, costlier. I hate duality (and yet, I love it on some other level!).
NPR did a spot some months ago about people--some of whom used to be major big-wigs prior to the recession--who are now jobless, homeless and living in tent cities (essentially, shantytowns) across the U.S. It was mind-bending to even think of; truly and unbelievably sad. I try to remember those folks when I get sad about the fact that we only have a futon instead of a nice sofa. I find myself thinking of the "have-nots" a lot these days to derail negative thoughts about what we don't have. It's kind of depressing.
We are lucky. We have health care (and we have our health!). We have families who love us and are very supportive. We have great friends. We have solid educational backgrounds that inevitably will work in our favor to allow us to acquire decent-paying jobs. We are lucky.
And there is nothing in the world that can duel with that.
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