Change can be good

For 10 years, I had worked in one capacity or another at two small-town sister newspapers~ in my town and the neighboring one. I went back and forth for the same publisher, depending on where I was needed at the time. I started out as a writer at age 50 with no formal experience or degree, but I had an aptitude for it and I learned as I went. I was taught by some of the best. I had progressed to editor at one of the papers when the owner and publisher, a decade past when he originally planned to retire, gave all of his employees a 2-day notice and closed the doors to both offices on April 1, (no fooling) 2020. He had been trying to sell the papers for years, with no serious takers. When he began losing more money than he was taking in and the pandemic was making the option of selling less viable every day, he’d decided to cut bait. I can’t say I blamed him. I was out of a job, but I had built-up a lot of unused vacation time, and my former employer was gracious enough to pay me for it. This helped cover the bills for about six weeks without me having to collect unemployment.

Truthfully, I could have made twice as much on unemployment and coasted for a while, but that’s neither here nor there.

Rather than fall into some sort of depression about being unemployed, I was relieved to stay home and safely social distance in our own little cocoon. But it was also frustrating to finally be able to get the time off (without having a death in the family) and not be able to freaking GO anywhere! Not for fun, not to apply for a new job, not to go out to eat or to a damn movie! I spent a lot of time sitting in the yard with my dogs. I thought this may be a good time to start working on that great American novel. Nah, that didn’t happen.

After a couple of weeks without a local paper, our small-town development corporations bought the two papers and combined them, hoping to rely on unpaid volunteers rather than employees who knew the ins and outs of the business. I have to say, this was a bit of a slap in the face to my former co-workers and myself. It was like we were being told, “We miss what you guys did, but what you did isn’t worth paying for.”

I was bored and I did write one volunteer article and submitted a few photos. But I didn’t give them a lot.

After a few more weeks, the board realized if they wanted someone to sit through ungodly boring county commission and city council meetings, and write stories about said meetings, they were going to have to pay someone to do it. I was offered a paid position at roughly the same salary I had been making, but with no benefits or co-workers. I took the writers position for a while. But it just was not the same. For one thing, I was no longer working for someone with 50-some years of journalism experience. A development board’s job is to make the town look good. I get that, but a newspaper’s job is to report the news, good and bad. It’s supposed to be a historically accurate record. When my story about one young family’s serious experience with Covid was pulled at the last minute~ , because, I was told, that some people don’t get “all that sick” from it and my story should include those folks, I realized that the new publication just was not a good fit for me anymore. I suspect that it was because my story contradicted our governor’s column that week. (The governor of South Dakota has and continues to downplay the seriousness of COVID, and falsely stated that week that people with no underlying health conditions would not get seriously ill.) She would not even encourage mask-wearing or social distancing. Her ineptitude has resulted in one of the highest death rates per capita in the country, despite being a sparsely populated state.) Anyhow, that was the week I realized that the governor’s lies would come before the truth and I began keeping my eyes open for something else. A newspaper writing or editing position for a different publication would have required a commute, and because we have harsh winters that sometimes include treacherous driving conditions, I wanted to avoid that if possible.

For a while, there were no local jobs that my 60-year-old body could handle. But when a totally different type of position (bank teller) opened up in my town, I went for it, got it, and was able to leave the paper on good terms. The publication is going strong, more than a year after they started. They have hired a few people now, but also rely heavily on volunteers.

It was really different to go from where I was confident that I knew what I was doing, to being the newbie. I am still learning computer programs I had never used. I am old enough to be the supervisor’s mother and I hear “Oh Sweetie” when I screw up a little bit more often than I’m comfortable with.

But I also get to leave work at 5-ish every day and do not have to worry about covering an evening meeting or sports event. I don’t ever have to get out of bed at 2 a.m. to chase a fire truck again, and if I never have to sit through another 5-hour county commission meeting again, whether it’s in person or via Zoom, it will be too soon.

My life is my own again. I work an occasional Saturday morning now, but it’s not every week. And I have a 401K plan, more paid time off than I have ever had before, and I will be able to purchase health insurance through my employer when my husband, who is three years older than me, is eligible for Medicare. If someone had told me two years ago, that my plan for my last decade in the work force would change so drastically, I never would have believed them. It’s not a bad path, but I do miss writing. That’s why I’m here.

Edit ….it is now January, 2023 and so much has changed! The bank job didn’t work out after all. I admit, I am better at words than numbers, but this place has a very high turnover rate among their employees, which I think they need to take some responsibility for.

They were asking me to resign by the end of the year, but would not fire me. (Avoiding paying unemployment, and looking bad to the community.) I think they were afraid I would try to get us both on the health insurance. My husband had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. When we were told he didn’t have much time left, I called the big guy at the bank that evening, at home. I told them I would not be back, except to clean out my drawer. I was going to spend as much time with my husband as possible. I was welcomed back to the newspaper part-time and was able to do a lot of work from home. But after my husband died and I started receiving his social security, I could not make more than $19,000-some a year without them dinging that. So I quit again partway through 2022. With an unexpected bonus check from my husband’s place of employment and my part time salary, I was close to my $19,000 limit, so I needed to be done for the rest of 2022. My emotional health needed the break anyway, and I have moved back to my tiny hometown. I’m getting a little antsy now, and thinking a little freelance writing here and there might be my best bet.