Final Nail in the Coffin - Why I Changed My Career

        The room was full of a fine white drywall powder from sanding. It created a hazy cloud in the air where you could barely see your hand in front of your face. Memories of foggy evenings in Newport, where I grew up, flooded to mind. 

It was my third month renovating this old farm house outside Corvallis, with no end in sight as snag after snag piled up on this project. I had found myself in this line work through circumstance.

After high school, I went to college, like everyone says you’re supposed to. But school had tired me out at that point. I was easily distracted by the freedom of being on my own for the first time.

With this freedom, I made one poor choice after another. Not making much of my early twenties. Floating from one opportunity to another.

Eventually I was taken under my uncle’s wing to apprentice as a contractor. It felt like this work was the right balance of creativity and skill to keep me engaged. So after learning the ropes, I struck off on my own. 

I removed my safety glasses to wipe off the dust, taking a few steps forward instinctively. I felt slight resistance under my shoe as I took a step before a popping noise came from the ground. My foot slammed to the ground before my senses of the situation caught up to me.

I felt a cool, icy feeling between my toes. Panic and adrenaline filled my brain as I knew what had just happened. I knew I had just injured myself. 

Bad, too.

The kind of injury that is bad enough that the body’s senses haven’t caught up. 

Tentatively, I lifted my foot. A piece of trimming I had removed earlier lifted with my shoe. I knew now what was in store for me. I stepped on a nail, the pain just hadn’t caught up to me yet.

A rush of anxiety-induced thoughts began swirling in my consciousness. How bad is it? Do I need to go to the hospital? How am I going to pay for this? Do I need new shoes?

When I went to remove the trim, I braced myself for a fountain of blood and pain to come welling out from the bottom of my foot. I winced, prayed, swore under my breath, and pulled.

The nail had punctured my shoe, but passed cleanly between my second and third toe.

Big breath out. 

Relief.

I had just used up all my luck for that week.

As I was coming down from the high of adrenaline, I sat on the ground. Perhaps it was because of the rush of instinctual chemicals flooding my brain, I had a moment of sober realization.

I sat there dead-eyed, thinking of all the possibilities of the situation I had just gone through. I had always been so careful on jobsites to be cautious and safe. I couldn’t afford medical bills as I had no health insurance at the time. Even having to take time off to nurse any wounds would set me back on projects and more importantly on bills.

Why didn’t I hammer that nail down?

I always do, to avoid situations just like this.

One slip up. One missed step. 

What if I had made a careless error like that using a saw? What if I had just lopped off a finger or fell off a roof? What if… What if… What if…

As I sat there I noticed how much my knees ached. My back was stiff and tight. My hands were cracked and dry and dirty. I was sweaty and stank. My pants were torn and my shoes worn out. 

I just kept thinking.

And thinking.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

The reasons I liked this line of work had faded. The creativity became routine. The excitement of learning new skills and techniques had become the mundane repetition of doing the same thing over and over. I turned my brain off as much as I used it.

The benefits of being my own boss, scheduling my own hours, setting my own price had become stressful rather than liberating. The lack of security, stability, and collaboration left me feeling like I was swimming in the ocean, with no land in sight. 

 I took stock of the possibilities and priorities I mentally laid out in front of me. I had no accreditations, no certifications, no prospects other than labor and labor of a different variety. 

I don’t want to do this anymore.

I want to change my lot. My path.

I want to go back to school.