Honest to God, when we moved here about a year ago, I thought Sarah and I and the kids would be in New England for the greater remainder of our lives. When we visited here in May 2007 and decided this was the place we wanted to live, I didn’t care what it would take to live and work in Boston — even if it meant leaving journalism and working in some other profession — I was determined to make it work in Massachusetts.
Throughout a year of huge snowstorms, high rent, lost career opportunities and general feelings of isolation and despair, I haven’t wavered too much from that stance. Sure, Sarah and I have had long discussions about moving somewhere closer to family where we would have a better support system in place (and a lower rent as a bonus) but none of that ever advanced beyond the talking stage. I generally thought that when our lease was up at the end of August, that we would move someplace closer to the city of Boston, making our urban dreams seem less suburban. I half-heartedly applied for a few job openings outside New England but was never excited about the prospect of moving anywhere.
That was until about a month ago, where for the first time, I really saw myself living outside of Greater Boston.
An old friend from my first professional newspaper job, Beth Werling, told my wife that the Sandusky Register was looking for a new sports editor. Beth and her husband Jason thought it was a good idea that I applied for the position. The managing editor had interviewed a lot of people and hadn’t found anybody quite right for the job. Beth and Jason (and Sarah) thought that my many connections at the Register and my knowledge of the Sandusky area would make me a great candidate, even though I hadn’t done sports full-time since college.
It took me a day or two to get behind the idea (a good-sized part of me still loves the idea of staying in Boston) but after picturing Sarah, Maggie, Desmond and I living and working in Sandusky, I started to love the idea. That passion was fueled by my current professional situation, where I worked 25-30 hours a week as a waiter and another 50 hours in the Patrior-Ledger newsroom in a position where I’m routinely referred to as “intern” and “co-op” (and am assigned stories equal to the importance of somebody labled “intern” and “co-op”) and I don’t really have any prospects in New England to move out of this current predicament, either inside or outside the journalism profession. The idea of actually seeing my babies for more than 1 hour a day was very enticing, not to mention being able to run my own newspaper section.
So I applied to the sports editor job in Sandusky, writing a knock out cover letter and getting endorsements from Jason, Beth and a few others. After talking with the managing editor on the phone, I was excited that we saw eye-to-eye on many things, especially on the direction of a sports section that was still getting used to the 24/7 cycle of Web newspaper journalism. The managing editor, Matt Westerhold, decided to fly me out to Sandusky for an interview. Sarah thought it was in the bag, and my mom was giddy that she would be less an hour from her grandchildren.
Here’s how the interview went:
With MAYBE the exception of my Bonita Daily News interview, this was the best interview of my life. I talked up my strengths, laid out an innovative direction for the Register sports Web site, addressed and satiated any concerns about my weaknesses, met with all the key people and ending up getting endorsements from everyone surrounding Westerhold. I knocked it out of the park. At one point, Westerhold said, “I’m going to offer you the job,” and we even talked specifics on salary, timing of my start date and long-range contracts. In my non-interview time, I looked at housing, visited parks and saw what had changed since I left the Ohio city back in 2005.
Then, Westerhold didn’t call me.
I finished my interview on Tuesday. I flew back to Boston on Wednesday. By noon Thursday, he still hadn’t rung. When I finally called him later that day, he began the conversation with “Unfortunately….” Apparently, the interim sports editor – who had been begging off the promotion for three months, saying he didn’t want to be the permanent sports editor — had changed his mind. I had known this going in, with Westerhold saying the interim was a candidate for the permanent position, and at several points Westerhold said he was going back and forth between this person and me. However, this was also the interim sports editor, that, during my interview in Sandusky, had been called lazy; uncreative; not forward-thinking; not a well-rounded journalist; and the old way of doing things (I was called the new way) and Westerhold wanted to get away from the old way of doing things. Westerhold even told me I would make a better sports editor. I was more than a little shocked when I found out I didn’t get the job. Apparently, the interim sports editor had written to Westerhold “29 reasons why I should get the job on my 29th birthday” and Westerhold, being a bit of a sappy fool, had gone for it.
Least to say, the ensuing week was very dark for me, with Sarah, unfortunately, taking the brunt of it. To make matters worse, before Westerhold invited me to Sandusky, he offered me $200 as pay for the intense amount of time I would be spending at the newspaper. Of course, after the interview and in same conversation that started “Unfortunately….” Westerhold informed me that I wasn’t going to get the $200; apparently the paper won’t pay for somebody who comes for an interview. Nevermind the $600 I was down between traveling expenses, missing work for four days and turning down three freelancing assignments. I even called Westerhold a few days later, asking why he brought me out there for the intervie to ultimately just waste my time and money (I even asked him to reconsider his decision, as I was in such a state of shock over not being picked for the job). The conversation ultimately made me feel better, even if I’m still at a loss over what exactly happened.
Now, after our first legitimate attempt at abandoning the Great Boston Experiment, we’re still here. We’re still living in Marlborough (decided to go month-to-month with the landlord until Sarah and I figure things out) and I’m still working 75 hours a week at two less-than-satisfying jobs.
I don’t know how I feel about this. When we started this grand experiment, it was basically for two reasons. 1. I wanted to see if I could make it as a freelance journalist — live The Dream – being able to live and work from home while running outside the traditional corporate, career tract system. Even though I still write freelance, when the Boston Globe stopped needing me to write articles, I gave up on The Dream of writing freelance exclusively. But the idea of moving to Boston really began with the second reason. 2. We wanted to live in Boston.
Sure, we live in Marlborough and only make it inside the city limits 2-3 times a month now, but we are still making it work. If Sarah and I really wanted to, we could move a lot closer to the city. Sometimes it feels, though, that Boston isn’t the right fit for us right now. The rent is enormous, we have two small babies and three dogs, which don’t lend themselves to small home, urbanized lifestyles, so maybe change is right for us. Then again, we won’t truly appreciate what we’ve got until it’s gone. I certainly didn’t appreciate the joy and total freedom of living the freelance lifestyle for eight months. Sarah and I love the city; each time we drive in and have a fantastic time, we both abhor the idea of giving up such a grand thing. We’re in Marlborough, but we are ultimately 45 minutes away from everything Boston has to offer. If we still lived in Florida (or moved someplace else) we’d maybe get to see Boston once every two years, and that would be using up valuable vacation time that we would like to spend going to places like Disney World, Ireland, Hawaii and the like. Now, the city is right there, whenever we can make the time (and the money).
Is Boston worth 75 hours a week of demeaning jobs and never getting to see my family? No. Absolutely not. But, 10 years from now, is 75 hours a week of demeaning jobs and never getting to see my family a small price to pay for living in a great city that we love in a fulfilling job? Yes. Absolutely.
The only problem is, I don’t see how I get there. Yes, I am more than willing to slave away now for a chance at something far better in a few years, but I have a very hard time seeing that something better. I honestly every day live in fear of spending the next 30 years of my life waiting on tables and hoping for 20 percent in tip. Maybe a great opportunity in another city is the way to go. Maybe it isn’t.
I have such a hard time finding the right answer because I know there is no right answer.
Yet, Sarah and I still will have to make a decision, sooner rather than later.
An old colleague of mine from the Sandusky Register gave me quite the recommendation to Westerhold, and she, too, was shocked when he didn’t hire me as sports editor. However, she also freelances for the Toledo Free Press, and knows that weekly paper is in need of a managing editor, which at an upstart weekly means I’d be doing a combination of writing articles and overseeing reporters and their content. She apparently gave me a strong recommendation to the editor-in-chief there, too, because after a 25-minute conversation where I said hardly anything, he wants me to fly to Toledo (it’s in Ohio, people) and see if I’d fit in with the staff there. We even talked money, briefly.
After what happened with Sandusky, I’m proceeding with caution here. I’m excited about the prospects but am much more thoughtful over what I’d be giving up. Yes, Toledo is a fine city, but Boston is Boston. What you find here, you can’t find anywhere.
Will this be the end to The Great Boston Experiment? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, if I keep trying at jobs outside the area, this year-long experiment will eventually come to a close.
