Readers, I know it's been a long time since I posted; a lot has been happening!
When I last posted, at the end of July, I was working at a beloved summer camp as an office staffer; my last piece was about accessibility. How fitting, then, that I'm now approaching two months at my new job - working for a nonprofit that provides and increases access to Jewish learning for disabled and learning-diverse students.
I applied for only two jobs while I was at camp; I knew I should apply to more so that I could pay my share of the bills as I moved in with my anchor partner, but I confess, I was avoiding the crushing weight of adulthood, so the only jobs I applied for were ones my mom sent me that she thought would be a good match. One of them was really outside of my experience level, and I wasn't surprised to miss it, nor was I entirely sorry - the pay was good, but it was all in person, all large-scale events, and in an environment where I was likely to be exposed to COVID. The other, though, was right up my alley: a Jewish nonprofit with a disability focus where I could work almost entirely remotely. It sounded too good to be true. So of course I applied, and of course I was still shocked to receive follow-up messages, and then a skills test, and then a job offer.
This is the first time I've had a full-time job in four years, unless we count camp (which I don't, really, because camp is its own environment), and the first time I've ever had a full-time job that I could stay in indefinitely. I'm not a temp or a yearly contractor; I'm a true part of the organization. I have PTO and insurance and all the benefits of a Real Adult Job.
In some ways, the adjustment has been a challenge. I've never worked full-time from home before, so my time management has been different; I've never worked in donor management or contractor communications, so my communication has been different; I've never had such intense responsibilities, so my energy has been different.
And yet.
Almost every single day that I work, at least one good thing happens, big or small. Today, I got to chat with a fellow nonbinary educator; the week before last, I was invited to join a team of people I've enjoyed working with individually for a weekly standing meeting; a few weeks before that, I talked an educator and clergyperson down from a near panic attack. A week and a half ago, a colleague teased me about drinking hot coffee - "are you even from New England?"
But more than that - more than the individual connections and moments of pride - is the underlying knowledge that every single day that I work, I am facilitating access for people like me. I'm not working directly with disabled students or training their educators, but everything I do helps them. I process information from the donors whose gifts keep us open; I tell educators about programs they can learn from; I schedule meetings to discuss strategies and programs and initiatives; I make copies and stuff envelopes. And sure, I'm no longer doing the direct education that I'm so proud of. But I'm supporting other people who are doing it.
Theodore Roosevelt once wrote, "Far and away the best prize that life has to offer is the chance to work hard at work worth doing." I always understood that to mean doing the things that directly make the world better, but I'm discovering now that it can also mean just keeping everything running smoothly so that someone else can take on the direct work. It's okay to not be at the forefront of the movement; it's okay to be behind the scenes sending emails and taking notes.
So to all my readers who are struggling to find a place in life, remember: there is always work worth doing, even if it doesn't look the way you thought it would.
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