I’ve lost my pace, and I’ve lost my focus. My life story is nearing a point where I can’t say much more. Clearly it isn’t over. But it is easier to write about things years ago. And I’m not sure what else to write. I’ve been working, and eating, watching Netflix and working out with a friend. Then it is time for bed. Like right now, it is time for bed and I should already be sleeping. Then I think tomorrow. But I think tomorrow again and again. And it is always today. Maybe tomorrow.
I remember the first room,
It was small,
But I made it with my own hands,
and it wasn’t strong,
but it was the best I could do.
Then I made a second room for family,
it was two rooms,
with one door between.
And then there was a porch,
a sidewalk and a door.
An entrance for me to see the world.
A door for the world to come see me.
So then I made a room for friends,
A place to bond with others.
A kitchen to feed myself,
And a bathroom.
I built a lot of rooms for living in,
and rooms to work in,
rooms for playing and rooms for sleep.
A living room, a game room, a den, a closet.
And more rooms for more family,
more rooms for more friends.
And then there was a room for a wife,
and rooms for children.
It didn’t seem long before I needed rooms
There were so many rooms,
I couldn’t clean them all.
So I got some help.
Overtime many rooms were never used.
There was dusty rooms,
at the end of long hallways.
Some rooms I’d like to forget.
But there was a light in each room,
and the lights were always on in the house.
I thought this heart would last forever,
the lights go on shining.
I would go on building,
and the music would go on playing.
Beat beat beat beat.
But one day someone turned off the lights,
and just like that,
It was just another empty shell.
I’d love to accept the job you are offering. I see your newspaper is located in an idyllic small town. You are looking for a editor. But also a reporter. Someone who can be a photographer. And in simple terms, someone to do it all. I am able to fill all these roles. And would be thrilled by the challenge.
You see I love news. But more than this, I love local news. Being a part of a small community means a lot to me. I grew up in a small town. And my heart feels at home in small towns. Where the people and their government are close. Where the paper becomes a voice in the debates. Where we can help people to make better choices. And to better understand their options.
I’ve worked and lived in small towns in Nebraska, California and Colorado. And I know I would love your town. I can send you clips from previous news jobs. They show my strong news skills. I have shown an ability to tell all sides in a fair way. And can talk to many people. I am a strong reporter. A good photographer. And able in many other areas.
But, and this is a big problem. While I dream of writing in a small town. And I dream of living in a small town. What I don’t dream about is being poor. And sadly your wages are poverty level. It is a sad state news is in today. And I know you may want to offer more income. And maybe you can’t. But I can’t imagine leaving a solid job in retail. Just to take up life in a small town, and be poor.
I can be and am poor where I am now. But this job, while not my dream, is secure. How can anyone dream of accepting a job. When they know full well it will barely cover the basics. The rents appear to be around a third of the offered wages. I’m sorry, but I’d love to work for you. But I also would love to be able to afford a decent place to live. To be able to afford more than the basics of life. Nothing rich, but enough to not be strung from pay-check to pay-check.
So, good luck finding your next hire. Because until you offer more money. It isn’t going to be me. I wish it could be different for us both.