The Dark Side

Mike again.

Bear with me on this post. While it's fun to write about espresso, and farts, and Snoopy, obviously life isn't a series of light (or even disgusting) jokes. Leave aside thoughts that life itself is some kind of joke. It's an involving thing, being alive. Life is bigger than any of us, and for any of us to live a full and meaningful life, means to call on a wide range of the things we each carry within us--traits, talents, emotions. If I'm willing to be honest about the light stuff like food, drink and passing gas, then I should be honest about the heavier things in my mind as well--the worry, the fear, the uncertainty.

I'm looking for work right now--somewhat desperately--and have been since February, when I was let go from my surveying job. It's not a position I enjoy at all. I have a wife, a daughter on the way, and a mortage that's currently thirteen days overdue, with no way to pay. Unemployment doesn't even cover living expenses outside of the mortgage. This afternoon I'm too despondent to call the unemployment officer about extending benefits--our first cycle finished this week, and to qualify for more, I need to have earned a certain amount within the last two years. Having taken the first six months of last year off to do my dissertation research, I may not qualify. Kate and I could lose both cars and our home.

That's one thing--aside from the ongoing indignity of being denied employment, when I'm smart and diligent enough to do good work for a lot of people--that especially hurts right now. In so many ways, my life right now is spectacularly good. I have a lovely, gentle wife who amazes me every day with her little, sometimes (genuinely) unconscious displays of love. She earns my love and gratitude afresh every time we're together. She's carrying a daughter--well, we're pretty sure it's a daughter--little Eva, named after Eva Cassidy. (And if you haven't heard of her, she's well worth learning about.) We have a condominium which is a magnificent home, just big enough for us (though I need to clean out the nursery), with fun neighbors (who don't mind that we regularly break the no-cats-outdoors rule). I have my little James Bond sports car (yes, image is important to me. But it does also get 30 mpg). We have the makings of a family, something which will define my entire life. I'm looking forward to our future together, Kate's and mine and our children's (because I don't think we'll stop at one).

But the lack of a job...it's like an unplugged drain in the tub, taking the whole bath away. There's hardly a moment of the day--except those when Kate and I connect--when I'm not reminded of my inability to afford our life right now. When I'm not reminded of how I lost my last job, however unfairly, it may seem to me. When I'm not reminded of how, among my two sisters and me, I've managed to spend my share of the family inheritance, on my mortage and school (and maybe a used car or three I didn't really need). I know I created this situation, but it's maddening that all I need is the chance to prove myself with an employer to plug the hole, to complete the perfection (as perfect as any life can be).

Some days--like yesterday, out in the field with my advisor and colleagues, examining some local geology--I'm aggressively depressed, unable to make much conversation, almost paralyzed with fear of the worst that may happen. Some days, like today, I'm so exhausted by the despair that I'm kind of numb. Some days, like Monday, after I'd sent out a raft of job apps to potential federal contractors, and gotten a few responses, I'm feeling almost confident again. That's the range of my emotions right now.

I read news reports--over and over, these days, it seems--about another man who's killed his entire family and himself, usually due to financial ruin. I have no plans for anything but a long, happy life with Kate and our kids, in whatever form that takes--but at moments, I can appreciate the suicides' urge to end their worries. I feel guilty letting myself go to sleep on most nights, feeling I should be searching the web for more employment, doing something, anything other than lying idly on a mattress.

As a teenager, I was briefly suicidal. Long story, kind of melodramatic at this point, but at the end of it, I decided that even though I had no idea why I'd been put on this earth, I knew it wasn't so I'd take myself out of it. That conviction hasn't changed, and there's just too much I enjoy now to take the thought of suicide seriously. But sheer weariness from being worried is a burden, never mind the actual things I'm worried about, like foreclosure, repossession, the shame of bundling all our possessions into a van and stuffing them into some relative's barn while we hide out from creditors. The son of a bank president, facing financial ruin. And that's not even the worst part. The weariness is the worst.

I can identify with the fat white guy in the Kevin Garnett Gatorade commercials. Clever commercial, a kind of exchange between two guys, with very different lots in life, but sharing the same first name (set on the background of Garnett playing ball, and the white guy swimming in a pool):
Fat white: I've never been called the Big Ticket.
Garnett: I've never been handed a pink slip.
Fat white: I've never led the Celtics to an NBA championship.
Garnett: I've never had to tell my wife that we couldn't pay the mortgage.
Fat white: I've never been given the league MVP.
Garnett: I've never used a backstroke...as a coping mechanism.

I don't do the backstroke, but my workouts at the Y are no different. That commercial nearly makes me cry at times.

That's how it's going right now. Most of the times, I'm too scared to hope. With every day of no response from possible employers, my dread grows.

Kate and I can still enjoy so much together--our morning coffee, now that she's hooked, an afternoon walk, a stroll along the beach, or any other number of moments--but not long after, the sense of the open pool drain returns, sucking all the water down. I'm constantly reminded that I have no job. I can hope, and I do...but at moments, the hope is dim, and doesn't seem like enough.