Of getting an email for a screening interview with my dream job, then having a really good call because there’s no pressure and I’m relaxed and not desperate for a job—the day before I drop my car off at the dock to Oahu and we load our container.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
If I get a call back I will be tempted to go for it, even though the end result is like a murder-suicide: leaving the family once again to work in San Francisco? Except this time we’re locked in a year lease with all of our stuff to haul around.
But there’s hope: what if I somehow got the job with full disclosure on my family situation and they worked with me. Who knows what that could mean but perhaps where I could be remote half the year or travel or whatever.
All I know is that I can’t play games anymore. My last job was yet another series of gut-wrenching hoop-jumping, much like the job before with the crazy moon man. It’s no wonder I’m living far away from all this shit on the North Shore!
What I need to do is balance long term with short term, and keep my family’s best interests in mind. Our son wants so bad to be in Hawaii but he knows it’s limiting. Our eldest daughter is too scared to go anywhere else but I know she’d like another place. The other two would love it up there no doubt and let’s not forget my wife, who’d go back too.
Anyway, it’s ironic, just like that song—
An old man turned 98,
won the lottery, died the next day.
What I really really want is both. I want a great job in a cosmopolitan city and call Hawaii my home.