Through the walls of my attic apartment, I can hear singing. This morning, a modern spiritual and Hallelujah chorus spilled out every time the door opened from one of the churches down the street. This afternoon, a Brandi Carlile cover from one of the neighbors who has a backyard stage. The voice and lilt surprisingly the same. On NPR they say churches are bringing in extra money by renting out their steeples for cell phone towers. But the church down the street from me is in an old brick house and has no steeple. Astroturf lines the few steps leading to the weathered white door. The contrast comforts me. My days on Music Row, and mere blocks from the centers of so many churches, are now literally numbered. In one week's time, I will leave for Florida. Maybe driving, maybe flying. But definitely going.
Somehow, after months of searching and unemployment, I found the exact job I wanted. I soon lost it to an internal hire. Then Thursday, after two phone interviews with other schools, I got a call that the internal hire had fallen through. He decided to go to grad school. Once again, the chance to teach writing, lit, and photography was real. And not at a private school, but at a charter school, in a diverse community, not paid a ton but with benefits. It was everything I could ask for.
I am a firm believer in the gut feeling. I knew this was what I wanted. I'm not a person who waffles when faced with my best future. Once this was back on the table, I had to admit the other schools weren't right. Good options, but not
It. Soon, I will move where I have no friends, no history, nothing but a future and a good feeling. And this new chapter begins on the day of my birth.
