I shall never forget the experience of landing my first real job and fending for myself as I crossed a significant boundary. An old clunker was packed down and conveyed my essential belongings to an apartment I had found while browsing the rental section of a local newspaper of my recently established hometown. The decision was a swift one as I had to act with determined resolution as I was to start two weeks from the day of my interview—two days after graduation—as per the hiring instructions. Two weeks was not enough looking back but I figured out a way to manage. Once there and settled in the work I was to perform was to be anticipated for an entry-level position, slightly boring though busy; but acclimating to the workplace milieu was quite a task to tread. There was much unanticipated protocol to be followed that no textbook could prepare a new worker for as well as the medley of coworkers whose guidance and assistance a fledgling necessitated. It was an opportunity though, so I pounced on it with the voracity of a beast stalking quarry, knowing its next meal was no trifling matter with options scarce.

It can be established that my change in living conditions dropped considerably. Where there was once a well-enough maintained dormitory, and cozy childhood home I was derelict to, was now a rickety tenement on the outskirts of the city limits well beyond the finer accoutrements of town. I needed to save money, though, so the trade-off was reflected in a bank account and not the appearance of my conditions and environment. The fare I consumed was economical but nutritious. But what I lacked in ostensible appearances I made up in fortitude. I joined a fitness center and exercised profusely. Still, I had no eye for the female enigma. That is to say, they found no eye gazing in my meager direction. But that had not bothered my sensibilities as much as the prattle of friends and family members—those whom I kept contact with—attempting to guilt me into baiting a woman with which to enter into a relationship. I will never understand how others can be frankly obdurate about how everyone else ought to live their life, usually per their holy and sage counsel. Unfortunately, I think my demeanor cannot be fathomed by more agonizing and assertive personality types, of which my circle comprised; they could not recognize that I simply did not want to exert the energy in the mindless courtship rituals present society erroneously places on perceived beauty versus a connection through mutual attraction that I am hard-pressed to find reflected in contemporary culture, the kind I would be apt to engage in. The numbers game was not my idea of wooing a prospective lady. I could live without. Thus I came to appreciate the restrictions of my position.

An entire year into my career brought the nuances of the workplace finally into perspective. The gradations of office and laboratory life were well ingrained into my habits and I cast myself in such a way so as not to be seen in a bad light. I was ephemeral at best, only requiring precise direction on very rare occasions. Accordingly, I made certain to not beleaguer my superiors and give them undue reason so as not to be seen as continually reliant upon the services of colleagues and properly earn any respect or favor that could potentially be cast my direction. As the year passed and my performance evaluations circumnavigated desk tops I received a three percent cost of living raise. It certainly beat the fifteen-cent raise I had acquired as recompense for my labors as a grocery bagger and shopping cart collector during summers between schooling, so there were no complaints on my end.

The second year of employment contained not much in contrast from the first. I fared rather well and my position in life progressed considerably due to my frugal lifestyle. Work was work and I concluded my second year as a professional with a four percent raise. I had learned much over those two years; which is to say that I gathered that my schooling was mostly left behind for competency in completing assigned tasks by supervisors and bosses. There was a basic understanding of underlying theory at play, which I did well enough to grasp and display proficiently; but the fundamentals seemed to be stressed above all. My most prized accomplishment in that time was when I orchestrated a timeline that allowed for more samples to be run and analyzed which then were reported back to my superiors for their technical input—people with PhDs’ and pay-grades far above my scale. It worked out rather well, though; kind remarks were passed to those in power to access my utility of employment again. Contentment ruled this phase of my life, as bland and easily accepted as it was to abide. I can safely and uncompromisingly affirm that everything was happening swimmingly for me.

But it was approximately this time that I began to question the choice of what I was doing with my life. Not the what, but why. The work was relatively meaningful and enriching, but I felt a melancholic void forming. With an established carte blanche concerning my evenings and weekends the time to myself was spent by rather insipid, unconstructive habits. That isn’t entirely true: I supplemented my middling lifestyle with hearty doses of imbibitions. It seemed the most appropriate thing to do, not only to wallow in this mediocrity but wallow quietly though emphatically through the stupors I found myself succumbing to. Somehow I found it in my reasoning that all the great men from time immemorial quaffed their fair share in their prime years of autonomy which promulgated to them crucial life experience. Some reasoning. After a cognitive skirmish I reduced my consumption noticeably and replaced it with a healthy dose of bookish currents. Science fiction seemed the most likely of candidates with my background, and it commenced and hooked my curiosity of the written realm. After ingesting a fantastical series and enjoying it tremendously I felt to urge to move onto more daunting works, hoping for more plausible though equally enjoyable scenarios that have been set into honest, obdurate typeface. A sincere assessment reveals that I had always been partial to nonfiction titles before this disruptive cleave in my methodologies, but the notion of fictive parallels to my reality captivated not only my hard-lined rationale but my stanch sentiments in unison: a rare feat indeed. And so after purchasing and filling a bookshelf with hand selected hard—and paper—backs the quest had begun. Soon I found myself enjoying this world of novel ideas and worlds and concepts more vividly than I had my years of undergraduate studies. Those events were invaluable in placing me in this specific circumstance but I now had to suffice my inquisitiveness through other personal endeavors. Therefore, thereafter I enrolled in evening classes at a university not cumbersomely distant from my workplace and delved into this fresh domain of ensnaring wonderments.

It can also be noted that I ventured on this path surreptitiously; not for fear of others discovering this private matter I pledged to myself but of guarding against the extemporaneous decision foremost. Erstwhile stages of my maturation would have scoffed at such an impromptu choice as this but some subterranean impulse engaged me with the profuse breadth and essence of life I knew was waiting to be experienced as I entered this new path before me. I wanted to go on and acquire the fresh living awaiting my powers of acuity.

And so I studied a coursework that would enable me to be the receivership of a literary studies certificate. Sidenote: A class I had taken as a requirement for the degree I was eventually to be awarded, a Bachelor of Science, stipulated an elective course be taken and passed in the humanities. It was there I chose a World Literature course, but the timing did not collude with the future rippling of an unprepared mind.

At present, I was enthralled with the topics now shorn from the syllabus, carefully selected by the instructor. He was a stout man of copious learning, visually accented by a Russianesque mustache, ruddy cheeks, a thinning, peppery pate, round spectacles and an orotund resonance to his meandering pitch. One could tell his dreams had been unhinged and he was there recapturing a lost and wayward fantasy through his students; but that awareness did not inconvenience me in the least; I was there attempting to embody the knowledge he had evaluated and would provide didactical discourse on as I permitted it to absorb into my resurrected mindstrings. On those much anticipated evenings there were fair fragments of historical pronouncements and their relevancy lectured, literary criticisms and studies compared, short novel readings and discussions and a minor segment on style, craft, and writing. I received a B for those three credits, as I would for the remainder of the classes that comprised my program, and was bestowed a BA for my determined efforts. The sky was not high enough for the aspirations I bandied about in my humble mind, nor were universal limits. A man of science should know better, but the transformative process to a more artistically minded gentleman won over my heart. I now attended events of a genteel nature regularly on weekends and read the volumes on my shelf with a more discerning eye, listened to classical music, and even dabbled in poetry when moved to impress ink onto my musings and make them more real than the meager sparks whirring and knocking about my head. I borrowed the best of both worlds in trying to unite some superlative ecclesiastical constant within myself from the nondescript tension abound in the human nexus.

The process consumed a year and a half of my life, blocks of evening by evening at a time. This was subsidized through the laboratory labors of my day job. There I was learning all about process piping and fittings and wall thickness and valves and pressure gauges and chemical reactions and kinetics and nanoscale surface interactions. At night I propped open and turned thin leafs of carefully chosen manuscripts in paralleled delight; sometimes I brought those indelible possessions to work and tumbled over the page numbers during protracted experiments and analyses as I joined the two passions in an open, though somehow seemingly clandestine, union that reinvigorated my spirit. The constant need to find a more effectual equilibrium between the two obsessions ravaged my limited faculties. It would be much easier if people were chemicals and followed natural laws of behavior. Between the dynamics scattering my senses and the urge, the need, to find conscionable approval through measures adequate to my strict qualifications the only way to ascertain my capability as an able-bodied denizen of scholarly truth was to be thrown headstrong into the challenge. So I applied for a teaching position at several school districts in the area. After a month elapsed my hopes were still determined; at the start of a second month in waiting for a response the hope altered to a manageable expectation. By month three that expectation unwound to a barely controllable want. The fourth turn over of a calendar page transmogrified that trifling want into an unwieldy memory of a misplaced dream. The lack of replies enervated then ossified the selfish brilliance I thought I possessed. Not that I expected immediate correspondence concerning any prospective upcoming interviews, but the obvious barrenness reflected in my mailbox and answering machine was unsettling after a third of the year had slogged by, especially since no responses were seen as worse than bad responses by my estimation. I know that I should not take such matters personally, but the transactions people make in life and tie themselves to—at least by my observations—are not adequately distributed on a rational basis. And so it was like that for me, too, as adamantly as I knew I mustn’t permit such apprehensions to reign over my sensibilities.

A fifth month’s passage curtailed my desire still further. Two weeks short of a half year in wait a beckoning came. I was to appear at the Morley High School at one o’clock in the afternoon in three days time. They must have been as desperate as I was since they hired me without hesitation. Little did they know how dire I observed my situation, because their offer was substantially larger than I would have settled for. If I could only peek into the past and save myself unwarranted struggles the stresses on my heart could be reduced to normal levels. As I am, though, whatever I have inherited and acquired through this expeditious life I must carry it like anybody else. That must be one of the trick’s life likes to play on people. Perhaps if I came across such deceptive ruses enough I would recognize and safeguard against the ploys around each corner, but I doubt it. I suppose that buttresses the judgment that I am not brilliant on any level. Yet I’m optimistic if only for my obstinate nature.

Upon receiving the news I drafted a two-week notice and placed it the office mailbox of my boss. I think he thought I was leaving for a higher paying job at a competing company, judging by his demeanor toward me in the ensuing fourteen days. Nevertheless, the mandatory—tacit—grace period was acquiesced and a fresh setting introduced a new arrival of sorts. The initial day was unglamorous. The primacy of the realness and tethered backdrop overrode any prospect of enjoyment. A brick façade guarded rectangular desks, chalkboards and doors; and young learners too. I was reassured in some respects, though had reservations concerning others. Everything had changed so much since I was in the position these pliable children are in.

That did not, though, affect the cautious, belated joy that unfolded and proliferated throughout my apartment upon the workday’s demise. I took a chalice of red wine with the commingling of higher gods prancing about my headspace. Bliss roved about until I was impelled to produce pillow talk with unsuspecting bedside apparitions.

As was to be expected, not all my students were enthused about English as a subject. They knew enough to speak and get along with relative ease already, at least by their calculations. Still, standards and requirements were to be met and I was there as facilitator. My talents as an educator were limited, granted—in those days teaching requirements weren’t as superfluously rigid—but I proceeded with the zest that imparting somewhat valuable knowledge unto these awakening souls. I can assert, safely, that I had my favorites and demonstrated only the subtlest of partialities when a student engaged his or her mind in more creative and concentrated ways than the crude repetition of psittacine mockings and stagnant adages, and those instances tugged the fibers of my appreciation. Other times I feigned attention when burdened with trite and ignorant suppositions, but that is done in many aspects of life and so it was not an incredulous stance to actively simulate. I taught and joked, was stern when I had to be but enticingly blasé for the bulk of the time I presided over the eleventh grade English classes. Overall, it was gratifying seeing future lawyers, businessmen and women, mechanics, administrative assistants, and civil servants before destinies were made staunchly permanent; and hopefully I guided those affable and seditious individuals toward not too forked of a path their personal journeys consisted of, one that still offered choices however far-fetched they may seem to surmise during momentary, quotidian monotony.

This sequence was perpetuated for a few years. Yet wayward anticipations re-invoked an impulse I had not experienced in years. And as all cycles go this one too returned to a familiar dial on the spectrum, extradited to a point impossible to disregard. So I set about mailing resumes to employers to regain entry into work that reflected the more technical aspects removed from a close recognition I formerly held by custody of a perspicacious consciousness. It was incredulous how I was mandated to tender one my passions as only a pastime, but do it I must.

A much easier trudge of three months was all the wait I had to endure on this change—or revisitation—of careers. I was unwittingly drawn back to my initial assessment of possible enterprises to pursue despite my obvious acquisition. All the relocating of compartments in my mind was worse than the physical act of shifting from place to place I’ve undergone countless instances. Yet I managed, as I have done with all things in my life: not with the fullness of my capacity but with a reserved complacency because some things really are rather difficult to escape; not habits per se but behaviors and patterns of something larger and unidentifiable.

I understood well that reacting to my whims and treating my career as a tennis ball volleyed and scuttled over an imaginary net I could not seem to delineate was not a healthy approach. By my nature I crave stability; and this pattern did nothing to alleviate any concerns. Much can be said, although, for persistence when not tainted by overly vainglorious motives, as it was in my case. Perhaps I am much more humble than the lot of my peers—or at least better skilled and practiced at shielding it from being made known. That and I do not allow my latent selfishness to govern temporary and sporadic jostling of grandiose schemes. Maybe I simply know my limits and accede to them. Whatever is the legitimate truth does not hinder my style of living and so by some primal yearn I know I must conflate my provoked passions in some workable manner. Though in some respects truth is less romantic than what the individual unknowingly communicates through the idiom of his heart. And I had mine.

Back to an erased chalkboard I returned, relegating the embers of my proper nourishment their apposite place amid the removed flecks of calcined markups: one by day the other by imitation candle light. By this time I began to pen short criticisms of the works I digested, a vigilant scrutinization of each piece as it absorbed, unfurled and excreted itself through my literary organs. Some I sent away to be published at magazines and journals, but none were ever accepted. This practice was prolonged until an appropriate sentry halted my rituals, scabbarding my rapier. Eventually graying hairs overtook my scalp and I accurately understood the meaning of the word feeble. That is not a complete history as much that could have been tendered has been deliberately rescinded for purposes of a personal nature. I could describe another of my numerous bouts of to and fro as my mind waged battle with itself and expound upon a foray into tutoring and again back into a technical setting, but I think, and feel, the general idea is well understood.

It would be appropriate to end this anecdote here and whittle my days away as they already have, in lackluster though personally satisfying deterioration, and ease the troubles of continuity: to elaborate that I steered my later years in a mindful recognition to the balance I attempted to achieve was a blemish only its owner could appreciate. But those circumstances would neither be plausible nor honest. The truthful version is that I altered my life dramatically in my regard. For one, I never took a wife. That might be an easy guess and one of the mainstays that carried over into a more refined, defined lifestyle, but it is worth noting. One might also think for me to have a plethora of sexual frustration lingering to be released onto the world in a vengeful fashion, but I am rather controlled as my emotional self goes, in turn regulating the innate desire to copulate. Comparisons to a eunuch are readily available, but, as is the rule, my testament is the exception to it. I liked and preferred the quiet solace of my own company. There were worlds I ventured and roved within my warbled head. The word loneliness escaped my vocabulary as I found my existence to be suiting and gratifying in a very solitary, emancipating and Waldenesque way.

There was little I cached after my pendulum of fate rested evermore. The compression of my thoughts, longings and sentiments were steady though evolved by dint of accumulated years and musings. So this is the account of my waning and mottled elder years: after a brief turn working at a nearby museum following the resumed then absconded laboratory stint I adjusted pace altogether. Thus, I became a porter. Somehow, as I became the position, I knew it was the choice for me. Not because it was mindless, or easy and uncomplicated; I still had my thoughts to roil with. It was because for the first time I made a decision that did not ravage the spirit of my sanity. This is certainly not admirable in many eyes, especially evaluated aside my former positions, and I can claim no right of wanting lesser quantities of derision and criticism aimed my direction—everyone has the choice of how they respond to ostensible character flaws and disparagements. The prescript that decreed a tranquil delight upon the essence of my life can be attributed to the simple and graceful acceptance of mortality and coped vulnerability inscribed and imparted to each infant at birth. And so my constitution is at ease—again—and the elusive natural simplicity I tried to retrieve for some time is no longer as furtive as once perceived.

About the Author

Ed Kachur