When I left Minneapolis, I left my full-time job. I left my only source of income, the community network I built over the course of nearly two years, and I left with no certain future by way of employment or destination. What made the difference: I left with no doubt that I would find all of those things in due time.
Fear is a tough, unwieldy emotion. Being afraid is an impetus to poor or underdeveloped decision-making. Managing fear and stress, because of what could happen if neither is managed, is a prerequisite to positive growth. Being flexible amidst change, being determined and hard-working when served a long line of defeat, being the owner of emotions that run wildly and circumstances that seem untenable, being self-reliant—these are things that no one can teach. Life must be our teacher.
On the final day of my month-long road trip across the country and back, I was sitting in a small cafe in Philadelphia next to my dear friend of several years. At the time, I had the intention to find viable ways to live in Philadelphia. I was determined to use the four days I spent in the city to their maximum potential; while Ayushman was gone for the day at work, I would explore the city, determine if it was surely the place I’d want to continue my career, and try and spot a career in the places I’d visit and people I’d met along the way.
The day before my last, I popped my head into a side-street building donning Penn State University banners along its facade. Being a Penn State alumnus, it was a pleasant surprise to see that satellite locations were located in central Philadelphia, more than two hundred miles from the main campus I attended. I learned from a kind receptionist of about my age that the campus operated solely through the College of Landscape Architecture, and a few professors from Penn State established this location in order to focus on urban planning in the city. There was nothing, given my background in the humanities, that I would viably do with this branch.
Before long, though, sensing my open search for employment, the receptionist began to pull up web sites that she used only a few months prior to find the job she currently held here. She pointed me to Philaculture, an arts org job bank for the city, and the Philadelphia-focused branch of Penn State’s web site which listed opportunities for alumni in the city. In the midst of our discussion, one of the professors emerged from his office and shook my hand. His name was Tom McCann. Equally willing to take time out of his day to help me, he gathered that I was searching for writing work and suggested I contact Rosa Eberly, a veteran on the Philadelphia media scene. I said I would, thanked the two of them for their help, and left with a smile spawning from the goodness of other people.
Fast forward 24 hours, and I am in the cafe with Ayushman, browsing Philaculture’s web site over a cup of coffee in search of potential work. In a ten-minute search, I isolated a few jobs that struck my interest. To reach my destination of Worthington, Pennsylvania on time to fish with my family later that day, I had to pick up what I was doing and be on the road in about an hour. I chose, from a list of about three job postings, to use that last hour of time to apply for one.
It was a position in public relations with Walnut Street Theatre, the nation’s first theatre. Located in center city, the Walnut has upheld a solid reputation across the nation and is a city favorite for the famous figures brought to the stage for many its productions. Of course, I knew none of this ten minutes into applying. Ayushman as my editor, I submitted my case for employment with no time remaining on my stopwatch (a means for accountability and goal attainment rather than any physical consequence of not meeting deadline). I shut my computer, packed my things, and drove to the opposite side of the state to go fishing for the weekend with family. It was my first time home in months, and I was sure I’d be staying in Pennsylvania more permanently to remain close to the family and friends I’d missed out on during my years abroad and across the country.
The following week, I received an email from Amy Rogers, director of the Department of Communications for Walnut Street Theatre. She invited me to an interview that Friday, just a week after the submission of my application. I’d been invited for 11 a.m. There was no hesitation in the steps that followed. From a South Side cafe in opposite-seated Pittsburgh, I chose to use the rind ends of the money to my name to book a one-way flight to Philadelphia. Conveniently, I remembered that my brother would be leaving for a conference in New Orleans on Friday, early in the morning. I adapted our initial plan—celebrating his 30th birthday in the city on Thursday night and dropping him off at the airport Friday morning—to a plan to join him to the airport for a flight at almost the same time. My flight was scheduled for 5:40 a.m., his at 5:30 a.m. I would arrive to Philadelphia just after 9 a.m., leaving me under two hours to get from the airport to the Walnut for the interview. The SEPTA was closed, or else some web site malfunction suggested that no trains would lead to the city in time. I’d wear my suit on the plane, take a cab to a café near Ayushman’s house, and leave my belongings with him for an hour while I interviewed.
When the investment was made, I knew there was no choice but to act with conviction. I believe that having high stakes involved in a decision streamlines our determination to “make it pay.” If I had called my parents and asked to borrow some money, I would not have seen the direct consequence of my choice. The number on my bank account when my flight was booked was enough to convince me that I had one chance, and that I had no choice but to make it count. I emailed Amy informing her that I would be there for the interview. I consulted Quinton Skinner, my former editor and once-and-always mentor, on interviewing. He directed me to me read into strategies for successful interviews, and I opened the links he sent in multiple tabs so that I would be able to read them offline on the plane ride to Philadelphia.
Despite being a bit hungover from the celebration with Nick the night before, and despite the both of us nearly missing our flights, we were both on our way. I hailed a cab when I arrived and met Ayushman in Plenty Cafe, where I ate a bagel sandwich sent down from heaven to rejuvenate me. Amy and I met at 11 a.m. and had an interview that ran like a conversation with an old friend. I met her higher-up manger Ralph Weeks, followed by the Marketing Manager, Adrian Anderson. We had distinct conversations, and to the best of my ability I made it clear to each of them that this opportunity would be more than just a job to me.
On a sunshiny day, I emerged from the theatre with a smile, knowing I had accomplished what I had flown across the state to achieve. In my elation, I met a beautiful girl on the street after debriefing about the interview on the phone with my mother. She said I looked happy; I explained why. If I found out I got the job, I’d take her on a date to celebrate moving to the city. She explained that she was transitioning, that this was her final day working her old job, and that she had the large black suitcase with her because she was off to London for a week before starting her next position. She hoped as much as I that I’d be offered the job.
In September, I’ll start working as a Public Relations Apprentice for Walnut Street Theatre. Who knows if I’ll see the girl. It’s an occasion that marks, for me, not the success of a single endeavor but the success of a lifelong strategy. When we commit fully to the objects of our desire, we leave no space to let self-doubt—much less the doubt of others—trickle into our actions. We are determined when we know to such a great extent that we are capable that it is written in a boldfaced message across our eyes. We are successful when anyone can read our story.
Employment was a single step in the dream to live and begin my career in Philadelphia. With little income, it would later involve a quest for subsidiary ways to support a fledgling career until I could fly on my own. I knew I would take my experience with me and that any fear of what’s yet to be determined would not scare me from commitment. All great things begin with an idea.
Rosa Eberly is more than a name I wrote into this text for factual documentation. Dr. Eberly, a supportive stranger, consulted friends of hers in the news industries of Philadelphia and Pittsburgh and came back with a suggestion: “Pitch freelance story ideas to alternative weeklies to keep current with your clips in arts journalism.” From my interview with Amy a week before, I remembered her mentioning that I could certainly look to city-based web sites to publish original content on my own time. And Quinton when my early searches came up short? ” Sparse mag scene? Start one of your own!” Asking more handouts from Dr. Eberly, Amy, or Quinton would be avarice. What I had was a lead, a few related points from three credible sources. It would be my responsibility to connect the dots, my hard work to build a publishable profile, my opportunity for supplemental income in my hands. From now on, I am committed to a plan, with a vision for a better future and viable ways to get there. No day can seem boring.
Equipped with 17 bed and bath guest rooms—literally two lines of retired boxcars converted into cozy hotel rooms —the Northern Rail Traincar Inn is what the Today show’s Peter Greenberg justifiably calls “one of the World’s Top 10 Most Unusual Hotels.” A domed hallway decorated with wall memorabilia from the Northern Rail’s operational heyday connects the two separate lines under one roof.
at it looked like and the destinations such as Split Rock and Goosebury State Park, and, of course, Lake Superior, I can thank the staff at the Northern Rail for informing my that I hadn’t arrived to Two Harbors on just any old weekend (really? It’s kinda quiet around here.). As a matter of fact, the following morning would be the start of the annual Beargrease Sled Dog race, and if I was in town there’d be no way I could miss the attraction of watching the race’s launch at 10 a.m.
further along the lake.
Notes from a Strange Place 