The Long Roads….

There are so many of them in life it seems…  Roads that never really seem to end…  Roads that feel like they’re uphill all the way…  Roads that feel lonely, that seem to isolate you, that feel like they’re full of potholes and dangers….

Roads that test you for all that you’re worth.

I’m currently travelling one of those roads right now…  And man, this road has been one son of a bitch to walk.

Many night and days it has left me crying lately…  bawling…  because I just don’t know what to do anymore.

What road am I on?

The job hunt.

The hunt has been on for a while now.  But it really got cranked into high gear about three or four weeks ago.  Since that time I have littered this city with resumes, I have gone on countless (actually that’s a fucking lie, I’ve counted every one) interviews…  and its all boiled down to the same thing:
“Great resume but…”

Sometimes I can feel that but hanging over my head, as well as the reason behind the but…
“Oh wow, you used to be in the military.”

Other times you can only guess at the but, but the but is still there…  the elephant in the room.

Yes…  I used to be in the military.  You know what, yeah, I was…  That means I have great work ethic; I will work myself to the bone for you because that’s what I know how to do; I will also follow your instructions instead of trying to find my own way through crap and reinvent the wheel…

And I’ll be so eternally grateful for the chance to prove myself to you that you’ll never have to worry about me slacking off or not giving 110 percent every day.

But you’re right…  But I have a military background.

Some friends have suggested altering my resume; removing that…  But that feels like it flies in the face of everything that I’m trying to teach my daughter…  Everything I’m trying to teach her about being proud and being who you are.

But maybe that’s the only way to get beyond where I am now and into something more stable…  something that will provide us a stable income.

But then I remember…  I remember taking her little hand on Remembrance Day…  taking her down to the Cenotaph…  carefully explaining to her about Remembrance Day.   I remember the look on her face as she remembered my one dear brother and his sing-song voice:
Everything he said sounded like he was singing mommy.
Yeah dude… it did.  He had a great voice.
I remember the look on her face as we put poppies on the picture of us and then placed it at the Cenotaph.  I remember the care with which she placed that picture and those poppies, the care that she took with other poppies she found on the ground…

And then I remember the older gentleman that walked up to ensure the wreaths were all in their place and everything was in order.  He stopped for a moment, went back to his car, got her a bracelet.  He put it on her little arm and stroked her cheek…  I don’t know his story but I’m sure he has one to be so touched by one little girl placing poppies.

And then I think about denying part of my story; erasing it from my resume…

Because sometimes you have to do what you have to do to get ahead.2014-11-11 15.47.17 2014-11-11 21.41.05

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