In 1980 I had moved back to Florida and the relationship I went back for ended almost as quickly as it had started. My life took on a look I didn't recognize. At 28, I was living in the back bedroom of a friend's mother's house. My own mother had remarried and her new husband wouldn't allow her to let me move back home. Wow. In hindsight I can understand his feelings, but at the time it was quite a shock to realize I couldn't go home.
After a month or so my ex put me in touch with a friend who was looking for a roommate. She was my age, so I decided to move. That seemed one step better to me...to be in the company of a peer. It turned out to be pretty austere though. I was given a room, a shelf in the refrigerator, and had to smoke ( I did at the time) out on the patio. There was little conversation. She was miserable and grumpy most of the time.
Oh yes, I was feeling pretty humbled. I had gone from living independently in Atlanta and New Orleans to this.
Work wasn't going much better than my personal life. I had left my job with The Hartford Insurance Group to go to Florida and now I was doing clerical work in an insurance agency owned by the parents of a high school friend. That job ended rather abruptly when the father made a move on me in the hallway. Of course nobody believed me and my friendship ended when I left the job. Then I got a job at an insurance agency near where I was living. That agent ended up being a tyrant and I ended up being a nervous wreck.
Yes, while others were well established in their marriage, their career, and home, I was now 29 and feeling pretty rootless...not to mention miserable. At about this time, my ex told me the Miami-Dade Corrections Department was hiring - it was the Mariel Boatlift time - and suggested that I apply.
At first I poo-pooed it. I mean after all, I had graduated college. I wasn't about to take a blue collar job, let alone one as nasty as I imagined this to be! No, I was waiting for a position with an instructional design firm in Orlando to come through. But that job was contingent on them getting a contract with the Navy, and I was waiting and waiting and waiting.
More time passed and I got so miserable that I finally decided to take the job with Corrections...just until something else came through, of course! Frankly, I wasn't sure at all I'd pass the training academy. Here's a picture of me while in training. Notice the curls and the skinny body!
I actually ended up doing very well. That I did well academically didn't surprise me, but what did was my ability to master defensive tactics moves and qualifying as an expert marksman.
The job turned out to be just what the doctored ordered. It gave me financial independence and restored my self confidence. I ended up staying...even when the other job came through. I had enough sense to understand I needed stability and security. Through the years I moved up in rank and had several jobs. In addition to basic jailing assignments, I was in charge of the training academy for five years, ran the house arrest program, and through the last several years was the department's accreditation manager. I loved my work, though not always the system I had to do it in. Sometimes it was oh so hard not to walk away. But I stuck it out for the big carrot at the end of the stick. It made all the difference.
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