Making a Difference

Is this what we were meant to do? If we all took a hard look back at the end of our teenage years when we were entering either the workforce or college, is where we are really where we wanted to be?

As a reporter, I talk with a great deal of college students about what they are doing to obtain their dreams and aspirations. The kids I interview tend to be the top flight college students getting the good jobs, doing the community service and making the most out of their collegiate experience. After a number of interviews, I am close to concluding two things. First, I squandered away my four years at college drinking too much and focusing on my now ex-fiancee. Sure, I basically spent the last two years at The Ohio State University locked in the student newspaper newsroom trying to become a better journalist, but sometimes I feel I should have spent more time studying to be a bridge builder, a doctor or someone heavily involved in community volunteerism. The second thing I’ve almost concluded is if given the opportunity to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change anything.

Six years ago when I graduated from OSU, if you would have asked me what my career goals were, I would have said I wanted to be a full-time reporter working my way up the chain to be in the employ of a significant-sized paper. Looking at my career tract and where it has taken me, I’m right on track for that goal. I’ve learned a great deal in my time out of college; ascended my way up the circulation ladder; and have made it to where my copy regularly appears in a major East Coast paper, even if I did have to risk a considerable amount just to freelance for the Boston Globe regional edition.

It just feels so empty.

Maybe it’s because the further I move up the chain, the further away from journalism I feel. Rather than focusing on monitoring the government and writing groundbreaking stories, I’m just filling copy and writing stories that are interesting enough to be read (or lately, making sure I get enough stories in the paper in order to pay our rent). Maybe it’s because journalism is dwindling as a profession, as big media takes over and decides profit is more important than a quality product, reporters and their cohorts become more expendable. Maybe it’s because I got into journalism for the wrong reasons, although I barely remember what the reasons were. Maybe it’s the feeling that I could be better — and therefore more important — doing something else.

Journalism has served me well, and I have served journalism well (or so my editors have told me). Researching and writing is something I’m good at, or at least better than average. The problem with journalism for me is that it forces you to stay on the sideline, which I was never very good at. Your voice, as a reporter at least, has to remain balanced, so you have to be very careful to avoid displaying any perceived bias. I’ve sat in council meetings and heard some of our elected officials say the stupidest things and propose bad — sometimes illegal — ideas, yet I must sit there with my mouth shut and my face expressionless pretending that I don’t have an opinion on the issue at hand. If given the chance, my opinion would just be another voice in the crowd, but at least I’d have one.

Journalists can make a difference. When given the opportunity and the right circumstances, they can have a far greater impact than lawyers, presidents or lobbyists. But the day-to-day role of a journalist is not to make a difference, but to inform. We tell stories so people have a better understanding of the issue of the day, so their daily lives are enhanced. The day-to-day role of a bridge builder is to build bridges. The day-to-day role of a doctor is to heal people and save lives. My day-to-day role is telling stories.

Earlier today I considered a different day-to-day role that I feel would make a difference: criminal defense attorney. I have a strong disdain for police now, the way crimes and solved and ultimately the way suspects are tried in this country. As a defense lawyer, I feel I could be a small voice up against the tide that is “justice” is the U.S.A. Wouldn’t that be something! Go to law school, get a degree and spend my days not only defending the wrongly accused but helping people seriously down on their luck. Drug dealers don’t deal drugs to be evil; they do it for the money, which may pay for cars, jewelry or elaborate vacations, but it could also pay for a family and a lifestyle that a high school dropout could ill afford.

Then, of course, thinking about becoming a defense attorney also bothers me. The best thing about my job now is I get to spend nearly all my time with my wife and daughter. A lawyer’s life is basically the opposite of that. Plus, a lot of being a lawyer is paperwork and procedure, and I have a strong disdain for paperwork and procedure. Plus, I feel most lawyers get into the profession at the beginning with some altruistic goal — environmental protection, First Amendment rights, legal defense — and end up just becoming another gear in the machine once they realize how much money can be made. And money is a terrible, terrible pitfall. One of my greatest fears is becoming a gear in the machine.

I don’t know what I want yet. Maybe I’m doing what I want and just haven’t realized it. No matter how it turns out, I want to feel like I’m doing something important.

Diversify my contributions?

You know how when somebody is delivering bad news to you, that they kind of dance around the wording to avoid you freaking out? Instead of saying “We’re laying you off” it will be “We’re having some difficult times financially, and it will really help us out to cut back on salary allotments.” I believe that bad news might have been delivered to me this week.

My editor at the Boston Globe said we might have to diversify my contributions to the regional section.

The Globe has been having a tough go of it recently, being forced to eliminate another 30 positions in its newsroom as part of the now annual rite of buyouts. The cutbacks may be extending to the regional editions where I contribute, possibly with the paper eliminating them altogether or putting them exclusively online. My editor said he would let us know when he knows more. That was Thursday, and I haven’t heard anything yet.

Being a freelancer, the Globe doesn’t even have to bother with a buyout or an awkward conversation about layoffs with me. They could just stop approving my story proposals, although I think my editor has the gumption to call me up if such a thing were to happen. Either way, I’m very expendable in the Globe’s eyes, having no contract but the freelancer agreement and my role there is on extremely shaky ground.

I have a feeling “diversify my contributions” means something bad.

From the beginning of the Great Boston Experiment, we’ve known that the Globe couldn’t be our only source of income. Sarah works part-time, and I’ve tried like mad to gain a foothold in a second publication. However, with the pregnancy limiting Sarah and the freelance market extremely tight right now, the Globe accounts for 80-90 percent of our income. My Globe editor warns against relying too much on my work there, but if we’re to keep the Great Boston Experiment going, there’s few options.

One option, of course, is ending it. Several times now I’ve considered the idea of abandoning this writing paradise in favor of the job with the 9-5, the suit, the drive to work, the bosses, the routine and the steady salary much more befitting of my education and work experience. Yet, we hold off.  Sarah and I agree that’s not what we want, even though we would be more secure financially. There’s too much to lose.

This freelance gig has crappy, inconsistent pay; strange hours; no health benefits; and is run off my old broken computer. But it has one HUGE fringe benefit: I get to be with my family all the time. I see my daughter smile 1,000 times a day. I’m here when she walks across the room for the first time and is so proud of herself. When Sarah is having an issue and needs me, I’m not a soothing voice on a phone helpless to reach out to her; I’m here cuddling with her, saying everything is going to be OK. I’m there for the doctor’s appointments, lunches, dog-walking, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and all the smiles and cries. That’s a lot to give up.

But I may be forced to. My income from the Globe BARELY pays our expenses now, so if “diversify my contributions” means less work, I’ll have to diversify what I do to bring income to this family. That could mean the corporate gig with the long hours and the $50,000 per year, or it could mean three freelance articles a month and several nights of waiting tables or tending bar (my mother-in-law recently suggested crossing guard).

I’m starting to believe there’s no pot of gold at the end of this rainbow. After a year or two, no job offer from the Globe, no book deal to publish entries from this blog, no well-paying freelance life where I can choose on my own which articles I want to write for whom and when. It’s just a rainbow with a daddy, his beautiful bride, two wonderful children and three dogs who get to be together all the time.

What did Huckleberry Finn discover? That in striving for freedom, he was free already? Maybe I need to read Mark Twain again.

Credit reports are an institutional scam

Isn’t it amazing what people will do to keep their credit score from slipping downward?

This one little three-digit number between 300 and 850 causes so much fret and worry that people will do things they know are bad decisions financially just to keep their credit score from slipping downward. Is the credit score key to the survival of mankind, in the food, water, shelter sense? Did anyone 100 years ago care what banks and other lenders thought of them from a financial standpoint? Yet, because the current corporate financial structure places all importance in this ranking of people’s behavior, we must endure high interest rates, arbitrary deadlines with massive consequences and annoying commercials about how not knowing your credit score will result in a penniless, soulless life.

Take my and Sarah’s situation, for example. In an attempt to own a home in Florida and potentially reap the benefits of selling it in a few years, I signed a predatory mortgage agreement where my monthly payments were higher than my income could afford, and where the payments doubled after two years to the point where 100 percent of our household income couldn’t pay for it. As a resultof pouring most of our income into mortgage, condo fees and maintenance, we didn’t have enough money left to afford the lifestyle we were used to. Of course (like idiots) we didn’t adjust our lifestyle to meet this situation, and instead rung up huge amounts of credit card debt. Now, we have $25K in credit card debt, have outstanding balances with a handful of medical groups and the home in Florida is in foreclosure.

Two things keep me from filing bankruptcy. The first is the notion that I am responsible for the debt I’ve accumulated; and therefore I’m reponsible to pay it off, so I shouldn’t take the cheap way out. The second is the credit score. I fear while bankruptcy may be a short-term solution to our financial problems, eight years down the road I won’t be able to get a loan to buy a house or a car because the bank will look at my credit history and immediately turn us away.

Imagine me making this appeal eight years from now to a bank’s mortgage officer: Yes, about 15 years ago, I made a poor decision and tried to get rich off the Florida housing boom, which busted shortly after I made the investment. My expenses were too high for my income; and the debt spiraled out of control to the point where it was unmanageable. I felt that bankruptcy was the best option; and while that was unfortunate, I believe I have eight good years of credit history now, and I am a safe candidate for a loan.

Even if that appeal works on the loan officer, do you think it would actually go through? His boss would take one look at my financial history and say “How could you possibly approve a loan for someone with a credit score of 450?” The loan officer would be fired. No history, no explanation, they just look at that one number and decide that the one mistake I made in Florida in 2007 will now do me in for life.

This is a problem with the standardization of America: there’s no gray matter. It’s not black and white. Test scores, not classroom performance, indicate how schools are ranked. Years of experience, not talent or job performance, determines who gets promoted and who doesn’t. Credit scores decide our financial fate. We’ve lost the ability to judge for ourselves; it’s all in the numbers.

Here’s my problem; I know I’m in a worse financial situation now than if I just declared bankruptcy. As a freelance writer, I only make enough money to pay our bills and cover the minimum payments on the credit cards. All the credit cards have been maxed out because of our spending and because the credit companies reduced our limits when the foreclosure hit my credit report. With no money left after I pay the bills and the minimum credit card payments, I’m forced to use the little credit my minimum payments buys in order to get things like groceries, gasoline and diapers. It’s particularly frustrating because I only get about a 60 percent return on those minimum payments, meaning I pay roughly $500 to the credit card companies each money in order to get $300 to spend. I’m essentially paying a $200 fine every month for my past of financial immaturity.

Now, I’m all for paying off the debts I’ve accumulated, but at the same time, the system is rigged against the card-holder. Not being able to pay off huge amounts of my credit card debt at a time, I will have to nickel and dime away the debt over time. Given the interest rates the credit card companies charge, in order to pay off the $25,000 in debt, I’ll actually have to hand them at least $40,000, if not more. There’s a difference between making me accountable for my debt, and taking me behind the shed to beat me senseless and take all my money for past stupidity.

Yet, the threat of that ruined credit report looms, keeping me from pulling the trigger on bankruptcy.

There are handful of institutional scams out there that would be labeled illegal and immoral if an average citizen tried it. Social Security, for one, seems like a huge pyramid scheme. Credit scores, too, are the bogeymen used by banks to scare people into bending to their will.

Soon enough, I plan to resolve this issue one way or another. Either bankruptcy, an arrangement with the credit card companies or hitting the lotto will start the slow process out of this huge mess I’ve put myself and my family in. Whatever way it turns out, I no longer give a damn what my credit score is.

The spring fakeout

Having lived in Florida for the past three years, I totally forgot about the spring fakeout. In Florida, when seasons change it all happens very quickly. In a week or two, it will get more or less humid and +/- 10 degrees and stay that way for several months. In the more temperate climates, the season change takes several weeks where the outgoing season and the incoming season fight back and forth until the incoming season finally wins. This is nice near the end of summer, when you still get the occasional warm week even as the temperatures drop.

Near the end of winter, though, the spring fakeout isn’t nearly as pleasant. Last week, the temperatures broke 50 degrees for the first time, and the large piles of dirty snow melted away. It felt like spring was on its way, and we walked outside without jackets and marveled at once again being able to see the natural ground. Alas, this did not last, as the temperatures dropped below freezing and into the 10s again, making it seem even colder than it was before the spring fakeout.

I’ve been telling Sarah that by the time March rolls around, it will be warm again, and we won’t have to deal with snow anymore, except for the occasional snowfall that melts away in a day or two. Having never lived in New England before, I have no idea if this is true, although it’d be terrible if winter hung around that long. I’m sick of winter.

Great Hawaii Experiment?

Tonight, for the first time since the Great Boston Experiment began, I applied for another journalism job. While I have been sending resumes around like mad trying to get some more freelance work in addition to the Boston Globe, this is the first time I’ve applied for a permanent reporter job that would force my family to abandon our lives in Massachusetts and what we’ve built here so far.

You may recall from the previous I have begun to despair entry that I did apply for another job a few weeks ago — a non-journalism gig to be a speechwriter in the Michigan Legislature. That application came after I was fed up with the inconsistent lifestyle of freelance reporting, and at the time I felt willing to give up on this whole experience for that steady paycheck and the entry into a different career tract. Nothing ever came of the application, and the feelings of despair have since passed. This application tonight, though, is something different. While freelancing for the Boston Globe has been great for me, my career and ultimately my family, in making this application tonight I realized the pastures could be as green somewhere else.

The job I’m seeking is for a general assignment reporter for a 19,000 circulation paper in Hilo, Hawaii. It’s called the Hawaii Tribune-Herald.

Of course, compared to the Boston Globe, the circulation and readership doesn’t even come close. I’ve learned A LOT as a journalist since moving to Massachusetts and believe there’s still a great deal more to learn from the editors here. However, covering Hawaii has this awesome appeal about it, and I feel that taking a job in Hilo wouldn’t be quitting on the Great Boston Experiment. It could even be a step up, or at least a step sideways.

Now, I’m well aware of the pitfalls that come with moving to and working in a vacation paradise, having come from Southwest Florida. But having visited Hawaii, it is this strange and wonderful land that I’ve always wanted to return to, and being a general assignment reporter for a smallish community there — Hilo is on the Big Island, which is cool but vastly different from the big city of Honolulu on the island of Oahu — would be a great way to learn more about that strange and wonderful place. Living on Hawaii for two years or more (as the paper would require) would be a grand adventure.

All this thought may likely be for naught as applications to jobs in Hawaii posted on JournalismJobs.com have to be plentiful and mine could easily get lost in the shuffle. Or the editors there may decide it’s not worth looking at an applicant that’s nearly half a world away. Still, it is interesting to consider thriving in a place like Hilo. That would be an experiment unto itself.

Foreclosure: Here it comes

So a process server made his way to the house a couple of days ago; I’ve finally been served with my foreclosure papers. Unless I come up with a boatload of cash or a lawyer (and then a boatload of cash) in the next 20 days, my condo in Bonita Springs will be going back to the bank. This has been entirely expected, and frankly I’m surprised it took this long. The foreclosure suit was filed awhile ago, and apparently the only thing preventing the taking of the property was me being served with the paperwork, hence the process server. Still, it’s not until you have a process server standing in your doorway asking you what your wife’s name is that you start really thinking about all the negative impacts of foreclosure.

The immediately impact of me not making my mortgage payments anymore was me saving enough money to move to Massachusetts and pursue something a whole lot better than property ownership. It didn’t matter much anyway, since the terms of my mortgage was going to force my payment to double in the next payment, which would have been like 85 percent of my salary. I do not regret one iota stopping those payments and moving to Boston; my life is about 1,000 times better.

Still, with a foreclosure on my credit report now, I’ll be almost 40 before I can buy a home again. Unless I strike it rich, I’ll be renting for the next decade or so. Also, the mortgage company could still come after me for whatever balance is left on my mortgage after they sell the condo, which is problematic both now and in the future. I am trying to resolve my rather large outstanding credit card balance and have examined the many options to do so. (In as little as three years, I could be debt-free). However, if the mortgage company comes after the remaining balance, which could be as high as $100,000, I will be forced to file bankruptcy.  Bankruptcy would be nice to some degree since I would also be immediately free of the credit card debt, but I would like to avoid bankruptcy at all costs since I don’t want another black mark on my credit record. I also have a sincere desire to pay down the non-mortgage debt I’ve accrued, so it seems a bit dodgy to escape through bankruptcy.

Sigh, foreclosure. I wish I could go back 30 months ago and not buy that overpriced condo, not get caught up in that stupid speculative bubble scheme that has left me and many others in terrible financial straits. But I can’t change it, so there’s only the future to deal with.

Honestly, this stuff hardly ever bothers me anymore. Being a home owner has never been a goal of mine. I don’t mind paying rent at all, and if it weren’t for people telling that it is basically throwing your money down the drain, I would do it forever. When you’re a homeowner, you’ve got to deal with so many more problems: fixing leaks, getting inspections, mowing the yard, dealing with an aging home. When you’re a renter, you just call up the landlord and tell them to fix it. It’s so easy. Plus, the bad credit report doesn’t impact me that much since I can’t get a loan or anything with my already high credit card balance. That will be resolved eventually anyway, either through bankruptcy or some loan reduction program.

Yes, foreclosure is bad; but having resigned myself to it, I guess it should have no remaining impact on my life. I just wish it was over with.

Money isn’t real; it only seems like it is. This needs to be my new mantra.