The Happiest You Will Ever Be

wish I were here
I am always superstitious about admitting when I’m content. Nervous about telling the devil my plans. I must find the grey clouds inside whatever silver lining happens to be a’dazzling me at the moment so that I can guard myself against the moment I lose it.

So here we are again. I’m only ever happy when I’m happy in my work, and right now I’m deliiiiiriously happy. I’m working this interim producer position at the public radio station while teaching two fantastic English composition classes. I spend each day working creatively with a team or independently to create fantastic radio features or exploring effective nonfiction writing with my awesome students—who are miraculously, almost uniformly serious-of-intent this semester.

This is the life that I want. And it ends in May.

You ever heard that old summer camp question? You can take a year to have an epic, positively life-changing adventure. You will be the happiest you have ever been or ever will be. But once it’s over, you can never go back. Do you do it?

I always answered yes. Hell, yes, to adventure and the guarantee of satisfaction. And of course I’ll always have the pictures to show everyone, right?

But now I’m on that adventure. I’m the happiest I’ve been in years, and I’m also terrified, counting down the weeks, afraid of the moment I lose this balance.

The interim producer position is just that, and adjunct teaching work goes semester by semester. So in May I’ll be downright unemployed. It took almost two weeks into this routine for the truth of this to strike. I don’t know why. I knew the facts. Still, it was on one evening drive home from the station while mentally plotting out a slew of new feature story ideas that the heartbreak hit. Maybe it was the springtime smell in the cool air; it was the first evening I was able to drive with the windows cracked. It was the sense of things changing even at that moment, even as I drove. This would not, would not last.

So I’m looking for jobs. And I guess it’s just time to accept that I’m addicted to jobs in which I get to work on cool feature stories. And of course my ardor is only enhanced by knowing the meager availability of the sorts of feature-work I thrive on and the glut of talent out there competing for it.

In the meantime, I’ll do my best to enjoy right now. It seems to require a sort of zenlike attitude. Tips? Tricks? I’m open to suggestions.

3 thoughts on “The Happiest You Will Ever Be”

  1. One time I had a job writing about paint for bricks to make bricks look not painted. And I have to say that I did get paid to do that.

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