New Course and a little George
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There was a stretch of my life when I couldn’t seem to find a job that made me happy. You’ve probably had a similar experience or two. During one particularly soul-numbing time, after moving back to Chicago—the home that had claimed me and pulled me away from my roots—I spent hours commuting up to the northern suburbs and back each day, barely spending any time in the city where I felt I belonged. The job was a terrible fit; traffic sucked. I was lonely.
So I listened to a lot of George. Saunders, I mean. You know, this guy:
On the drives, I’d listen to interviews with him on loop; at work, I’d watch videos/read articles about him when my boss wasn’t looking. He kept me going in a very real sense. Later that year, I got to hear him in person at the Music Box in Chicago when he was touring for Lincoln in the Bardo; when my turn came for the signing, there was a moment of genuine awe. It would sound ridiculous if I didn’t share Saunders’ reckless sense of earnestness in all things (plus he responded to my email very kindly once like ten years ago), but it almost felt like we were continuing a conversation. He inscribed my name with an exclamation point and to this day, it gives me a thrill every time I look at it.