Doorstep, Stoplight... it's all semantics

When I was a teenager, much of my family for whatever reason seemed to think that I really, really liked Bob Marley. Even though I only owned one CD, Legend. I bought one t-shirt because I thought it was cool and then my family would give me more for birthdays and at Christmas. My dad even bought me a Bob Marley shirt just a Christmas or two ago; I didn’t have the heart to tell him I hadn’t listened to him in at least a year or two. My family also seemed to think I was really into Jimi Hendrix and Pink Floyd, totally ignoring how much I was digging The Who (I even had a tie-dye shirt). 

A few months back I heard “Three Little Birds” on CD 102.5 on one of the few occasions that I actually listen to the radio. CD 102.5 is one of few indie radio stations still around and one of the longest running in the nation. They play a pretty eclectic mix, not having to abide by ClearChannel standards, but it still threw me off to hear the peace-anthem on the radio. You don’t often hear Bob Marley on the radio and if you do, it’s generally “I Shot the Sheriff”. I turned it up because not doing so would have just been disrespectful to somebody.

Just over three weeks ago, I was fired from my job of nearly nine years. I worked for my uncle. It wasn’t a very great job: I worked at a grocery store for $9.25 an hour. There was a lot of physical labor involved and far too much stress—both on the body and mind—for a job that should be so easy. On my resume, I listed myself as the “Assistant Manager”, though I think I was about the only one who considered myself to be that. What it all boiled down to was that he lost his temper and took unrelated stress out on me. Nothing beyond that is important. But I was now left without a job and a lot of bills to pay, including a recent emergency bill room that seems to keep spawning.

I’ve spent the last three years since I graduated college looking for a job, applying for upwards of 200 positions, resulting in just one single interview, which obviously did not result in a job. In the last three weeks I’ve applied for 50 or more jobs and have had three interviews so far, but still no job. I even applied for what I felt was the perfect job: facilities manager for a local theatre run by a non-profit organization. It was only a 30-hour, part-time job, but I figured it couldn’t pay any less than my previous job did in 40 hours. Unfortunately, I did not even get an interview despite having experience with all facets of the job responsibilities. I had even recently put on a benefit show in that theatre, which was a wild success and have since had dozens of incredible ideas that could really help put it on the map and bring it back to its former glory. To be honest, not even getting an interview was a bit devastating. My heart sunk. It almost put a damper on my whole job search, but I knew I had to continue.

Just over a week ago I went to get dinner from my favorite local pizza place in the next town over, Firehouse Pizza. As I approached the sole stoplight in my small town, it turned red. I came to a stop and as I watched the light waiting for it to turn green, I noticed three small birds perched upon the top of the stoplight. And I smiled. As if it was an involuntary reaction, my brain started playing the chorus to Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds” on a loop even though I hadn’t heard it in months:

Don’t worry ‘bout a thing, ‘cause every little thing gonna be all right.

I heard it in my head and I believed it. I needed to believe it. Everything will be all right in the end. I know this. I tell myself I know this. I cannot sit and worry and whether or not I am going to get a job or how long my money will last—that will not solve anything.