Saying Goodbye

           Since we’ve set the date for our departure to the state for Lovers, Jim the boyfriend and I (mostly I) have been making sure to say our final (but not really) goodbyes to everyone.  I met up with most of my friends from college and reminded them I’ll always be a video-chat or email away.  I thought I had said my goodbyes to my home-town friends, but since they don’t live too far away, they say it’s not the last time.  Hopefully they’ll come help us pack up the U-Haul. =).

Last weekend we went to Jim’s family holiday party.  Although he hadn’t seen most of them for at least a year, they were sad to see us go, but excited for us.  Yesterday we saw his Dad’s side of the family and then I’ve got a few more straggler friends and family to party with one last time.

My coworkers at my after-school program have known that I was leaving since September, and most of them are excited for me, but everyone takes it differently.  My boss is very reluctant to let me go.  She once offered me a raise if I agreed to stay ‘til June, but I’m pretty sure she can’t hold to that promise (not that I would take her up on it anyway).  One of my coworkers is in complete denial about me leaving and whenever I bring it up, he says I’ll change my mind and that I’m not really leaving.  I think he’s just upset that no one will be there to cook for him.

Saying goodbye to people is one of the hardest things in the world to do.  Even in this day of technology, when we know we can always email, text, and face time, it can still be difficult to be so far away from friends and family.  But this past Wednesday I experienced the first part of what will, no doubt, be the most difficult goodbye.

I’ve mentioned before that I work with children at an after-school program.  I work with kids grades Kindergarten through 8^th, and most of the kids have known me since kindergarten.  Although I see and work with all of the kids, my primary focus is with the kindergarten and first grade group.  Some of the kids I’ve known for a year or two, but most of them I’ve only known since September.

Wednesday was a half day for the kids, so a large majority of them came to the program.  After lunch we had a meeting, and I officially told all of them I was leaving.  I knew that this was going to be hard for them to understand as most of them have lived in the same town, or at least area, since they were babies.  I started out by asking who had moved from another town, and who had lived in another state.  They got a little confused between living somewhere and going on vacation, but I tried to keep them focused.  And then I explained that at a certain point in their lives, when they’re all grown up, they’ll want to move away from their parents, and that’s what I needed to do.  I told them that I was moving to another state and that I wouldn’t be able to work there, or visit very often because I would be so far away.  We all started to get a little teary, myself included, and some of the kids hugged me and told me they’d miss me.  I told them we had to try and make the next week and half really special and we should try not to waste that time being sad.  They agreed and understood and we started to move onto the next activity.

One little girl named Brooke didn’t take it as well as the other.  I saw her face turning a bright red and she was obviously trying very hard to hold back tears.  I took her into another room and she just sat on my lap and hugged me, and together we just cried and hugged each other.  I told her we both needed to be strong and make the most of the time we had left, but she didn’t let go of me for a good half an hour.

Later, my coworker told me that a little boy named John had turned to her and asked if it was okay to cry.

“Do you feel like you want to cry?” she asked.

“Not now, but next Friday?” he responded.  And of course she said it was okay.

As excited as I am to move away and start a new chapter in my life, I know that there are so many things I am going to miss about my home town of Lincoln, especially those kids and watching them grow up.

Next Friday will be my last day of work and the day that I say goodbye to a vast majority of people who have been constants in my life, some for just 3 months, some for almost my whole life.  I know that some of those little kids will forget me in a few years (I don’t remember most of my babysitters or camp counselors) but I hope that some of them will remember me and I will try to stay in touch.  Everyone that has passed through my life has affected me in some way, and made me the person I am today.  Even though it’s one of the hardest things to do, I know I’ll never really say goodbye. 

The Great War against the Resumé

The other day I fought yet another battle in the great war against the resume.  For years now, I have been fighting this battle, and somehow, I always lose. 

By the end of high school, I had a small list of jobs I had worked, which I warily referred to as a resume.  And throughout college I slowly learned the need to add summaries and descriptions of the job’s duty.  In December of my sophomore year of college, I applied for a substitute teacher position at my local elementary school.  It wasn’t my first job, but the first one I had needed a “real” resume for.  I enlisted my mother’s help and came up with something good enough for them to hire me (although I think they cared more about my 5+ years of childcare experience than they did the format of a piece of paper).

The next year, I applied for an internship with my university.  I enlisted my mother’s help again, and came up with something a little more professional.  And when I brought it to an unnamed professor’s office (if you still read this blog, you know I’m talking about you), he clicked his little pen and collared right over my pretty little lines, just like the kindergarteners I care for everyday.  I remember him saying specifically “You don’t need to put babysitting experience in your resume.”  I guess that was a good thing, because it meant I had enough actual experience to qualify, but it didn’t make it any easier.  Having to erase a part of my life—my work experience—just because it wouldn’t make someone want to hire me.  But I worked so hard!  It didn’t matter.

I went home and reformatted it, reworded, reworked, redesigned… put “RE” before pretty much any verb—that’s what I did to my resume.  And again I went into that dark basement office and watched him doodle on my hard work. And again I RE-everything-ed it.  Until it was to his satisfaction.  Then I sent it off to the internship and (probably found a mistake right after hitting the little envelope button) then, a few days later, I got the job.

And I happily forgot about my resume for a while.

At the end of the internship we had to add a few lines explaining the work we did throughout the job.  I reluctantly completed the assignment, then once again put my resume in the back of my mind.  That dark dingy corner with the cobwebs that you try to avoid at all costs.

But another summer went by and before I knew what had happened, it was my senior year of college.  I had been encouraged (the polite way that educators say “do it. Or else you will fail at life”) to enroll in a class called Career Prep for Writers.  I was excited to learn about publications and how to submit writing to here and there and everywhere.  Until the first assignment was to bring in a resume.  Then we workshopped the resume.  I climbed into that cold dark corner and brushed away the cobwebs, reaching for the document while trying not to bother the spider’s nest.  And then next day, everyone in my class clicked their pens and ripped apart all my hard work.

Again the 2 letter prefix was added to many words as I cut and pasted and thesaurused my way to a new resume.  But at a certain point, it just wasn’t working for me.  So I called in the professionals.  People: never say no to help, especially if it’s from your mother.  Keep her on speed dial.  Make sure she’s only an email away.  The 20-Something-Writer needs his/her mother.  Especially if your mom’s anything like mine.  If I don’t say it enough mom, thank you.
            Mom took all my words and put them into neat little boxes.  She bulleted everything and cut it all down and made sure everything was perfectly aligned.  And I was so happy with my shiny new resume. I thought I was finished.  Set for life.

Boy was I wrong.

We workshopped our resumes at least 3 times during the Career Prep for Writers class.  We also had to complete a “mini-internship” which I had to add to my resume.  FYI: the word “mini” is NOT professional.

During the same semester, I applied for my second internship.  This is when I learned a very valuable lesson: everyone views resumes differently.  My professor in the class gave me an A on my new shiny resume.  But the internship professor clicked his pen and once again regressed back to kindergarten.  He helped me get the internship, but I realized then that I would never be able to please everyone.  One person might think that my resume looks great—“Spread your wings and apply for all of the jobs”, but someone else always has a few more edits.

As I prepare for my big move, my mother and older sister have become increasingly concerned with my plans for after I move.  As of right now, I have a job here, and a good chunk saved up, but I was raised to never feel financially secure.  And my mother constantly reminds me that my car Zera is only a short while away from breaking down completely, so I need to be ready to buy a new car.           

I decided this past week to get down to business and clean the dirt off that trusty old document.  And thus the battle ensued.  I sent it to my trusty mother and she worked her magic.  And then I sent it to my sister Sara, who now works as a recruiter in the HR department of national company.  As someone who looks at resumes all day long, I figured she might be a little bit helpful.

The three of us sat at the kitchen table and Sara picked up a pen.  Click.  We spent about three hours crossing things out and adding, rewording and arguing about the right word:

“But Collate just means sort, when really you collected and sorted.  Collecting is the hard part, calling all those people,” said mom.

“Maybe, but “collect and organize” just makes it too wordy” Sara said.

My trusty Oxford American Dictionary app told us that the definition of Collate is “Collect and combine (texts) in proper order” and we agreed that it was prefect.  But will the hiring personnel know the real meaning?

I know that it wont be my last battle, and I know I will never win the war against the resume, but I’ll keep fighting, because… do I have a choice?

The Moving Disease

So now that I’ve made the decision to pack up my entire life and move a full day’s drive away from all that I’ve ever known, I am ready.

            Problem is, I’m not moving for another 5 weeks…

            As much as I want to just put every single thing I have into a box and get it into a truck, I still need pretty much everything.  I’ve packed up some pots and pans and blenders and stuff I don’t use on a regular basis.  Luckily I have access to my parents’ kitchen so I can use most of their stuff to cook.  But I’m not putting my Keurig away until the very last second. My microwave and toaster oven, all my clothes.  I need them! I don’t know what to do.

            I feel like I have a pre-moving disease.  All I want to do is start the process, but I just can’t.  I’ve been pinning moving tips and reminders and checklists and what not, but then what?  Am I just supposed to sit and wait for a month until I can actually START packing?  I’m just so excited now and I have all this energy to put into this move, but I have to wait. And wait. And wait. And I DON’T WANT TO.

            Also, I want to buy things FOR my new place. Jim and I don’t really have any of our own furniture.  We have our bed and a few dressers given to us from our parents, and a wonderful couch donated from one of my best friends, and a futon for when we get down there.  But we don’t really have anything of our own, to make the place ours.  It seems like a lot of stuff in the tiny space that we do have, but I’m afraid when we get down there it will seem so empty. 

Every time I go shopping, I see a desk or a coffee table that just looks perfect! But that’s just one more thing we’ll have to fit into the U-Haul instead of buying it when we get down there.  Also, we are moving a week before Christmas, so I know we’re going to get a lot of presents for the house, but it’s so hard trying to talk myself down from buying that beautiful set of knives or the 10 piece kitchen set.  I’m not one of those Martha Stewart types who needs to make my home look like a magazine (and I admire the women who have the energy to do that and keep it up), but I think I am just so excited to finally have something that’s my own.  And sure, I have to share with Jim the boyfriend, but he really doesn’t care about home décor.  To him, a table is a table, whether its made of wood, plastic or metal doesn’t matter.  I just want time to move faster so I can start getting ready for this move and get down there to my new home! I know I’m going to miss Massachusetts so much, but right now, December 15th can’t come fast enough!

A New Home

In my last post I explained how Jim the Boyfriend decided to move to Virginia and convinced me to go with him.  And after a lot of inner turmoil and debating, I got excited about the idea.  And so, the apartment hunt began.

Jim and I looked around and we got really excited about one building that had a gym and a laundy room and was really close to a hospital (that he might get a job at) and the college he’s going to.  It was basically like a college dorm building, all the convenience with none of the bullshit drama and RA’s (and let’s not forget the ridiculous fire alarms).  Jim sent them an email asking for an application and they said they’d send it in the mail.  But it never came and eventually we gave up on the search for a while.  When Jim registered for his classes in January, we realized we had to get the ball rolling if we were going to be moved in by the time he had to start school.

One weekend, I applied for a bunch of places and the next day I got a call back from a Woman named Tisha with a beauteous thick southern accent.  And I fell in love with her voice and personality and the whole idea of moving.

A few days later, my boss got a phone call from her, and they talked for what seemed like an hour.  At first this made me nervous because my boss has been trying to convince me to stay in Mass, but I knew she wouldn’t throw me under the bus (right?).  When they got off the phone, my boss told me Tisha sounded like a sweetie, and that she had actually mentioned recommending me for a job at the daycare down the road from the house.  The next day Tisha called my current landlady (my mom), and when they got off the phone, my mom seemed even more excited for me to move.

When I talked to Tisha, she told me about Woodstock, VA, my future home-town: A quaint little town with just the essentials, but not too far from a city with malls and shopping and movies theatres.  Sounds pretty close to my beloved Lincoln, full of cow fields and hiking trails where you accidentally end up in your best friend’s backyard, but only 20 minutes away from big city Boston.  Sounds perfect.

She sent me pictures of the house

But all I really care about is having a stove and an oven all to myself! 

And a KITCHEN SINK!!! (As I mentioned in the post “Spiders,” we are not legally allowed to have a sink in the kitchen, so we do our dishes in the tiny bathroom sink.  Hence why this is so exciting for me.)  Look at that beauty!

There’s a bathtub and a living room and technically three bedrooms.  I have never had so much space to myself in my whole life.  In the basement we have a tiny bedroom, the kitchen area and a tiny bathroom.  Before that, my apartment at school was a little bigger than a two car garage—and 6 of us lived there! Plus a boyfriend or two here and there.  I don’t know what I am going to do with so much space.

We got the lease in the mail on Friday and my aunts and cousin got a chance to look at the place in person, and it had their approval.  Now we just have to sign the lease and send it back with our first month’s rent.  We are moving down the week before Christmas and I am so excited!  And we still have a lot to figure out before we leave.  If I'm not to overwhelmed, then I'll be blogging about how overwhelmed I am.

The Decision

I wrote a post a while back called “Vacations for the Broke and Unemployed” about my visit to my Aunt and Uncle in Virginia. What I didn’t mention in that post was one very important result. While there, Jim the boyfriend decided that we were going to move there. He has been wanting to move south since I met him. 

“It’s warmer, it’s cheaper and the people are nicer,” he says, but I know his main reason is so he can ride his motorcycle all year round.  When he first said he wanted to move, I thought it was just another conversation that we would forget about in a few weeks.  But while we were there, he applied to a college.  And then he worked some voodoo magic to convince me it was a good idea.

I have lived in the same small town since I before I can remember.  We moved to Lincoln when I was a baby, and I went to school here, got my first job at the town pool, then started working at the town camp, then the after-school program, then started subbing at the same school I went to as a kid.  I’ve gone full circle through this town.  I can walk to my bank, the grocery store and my favorite pizza and sandwich shops, and I know where everything is, and half the people in the town.  Why would I ever want to leave?

But maybe that’s why I should leave.  I walked to work one day and on the way, I’m pretty sure I passed one, if not two of my ex-boyfriends’ moms.  And that’s when I had my real epiphany. I just graduated college and I’ve had zero luck trying to find a job in this area.  I’ve already started drifting from most of my friends (sorry guys, but you know it’s true) and once we get real jobs we’re gonna drift even more.  Other than my family and my overabundance of nostalgia, there’s really nothing holding me here.  If anything, this is probably the best time that I could possibly make this kind of big life change.  What have I got to lose?

So, even though Jim had already made his decision, and was already accepted to that college, and had already started looking for apartments—I had just been faking my compliance with the idea.  I knew it was happening, and I knew I was going to do it, but I wasn’t really ready.  After the ex-mom realization, I started getting pumped, started looking for jobs and apartments, and lo and behold, I found an apartment! You'll find out more in the next post.