JOHN CAFARO/John Cafaro
I liked being a teacher. After leaving the classroom at 33, people asked me if I did so because the kids were annoying. They were actually the reason I went to work.
The adults were problematic. Some teachers, administrators, and parents set poor precedents with the high schoolers in my stead, making their instruction more challenging. My teaching of English language arts wasn't having as great an impact on students as it should.
Disillusionment settled in around the time I began writing.
At first, I blogged about movies and TV for fun, but over time, my writing improved. I grew confident I could write professionally and wanted people to appreciate my artistic expression.
In August 2012 I sent a letter of resignation to my principal, anointing myself a journalist. I thought, "If I can't make this career work by age 40, I'll go back to teaching."
I took any writing assignment I could get. Not wanting to live with my parents again, I supplemented my income by tending bar, tutoring, and managing social media accounts for various businesses.
Later, I became an editor and a content writer, realizing that "selling out" to help brand marketing efforts was an efficient way to make rent. My writing improved, and after some networking, my reportage was published by legacy outlets.
I even thrived during the pandemic. There were new opportunities at more publications and a studio focused on webinar-based marketing content production that had little trouble signing clients as companies went remote. I fully supported myself through writing.
Shortly after I moved into my own apartment, ending a five-year period with roommates, my professional life regressed.
The content studio shut down once new business dried up; mass layoffs in journalism flooded the gig market with desperate writers, while publications cut freelance budgets.
Then came inflation and writer rate cuts, which manifested with the emergence of technological developments that democratized the industry and others that eliminated the need for some writers altogether.
I'm the best writer I've ever been, but I'm having the most trouble making ends meet. My debt has swelled to five digits, and as the journalism field continues to contract, reporting likely won't be a substantial source of income for me going forward.
While I'm proud of my writing achievements, freelance journalism hasn't provided me with financial sustainability or the level of personal satisfaction I sought. The profession didn't owe me that, though, and today I'd much rather afford enjoyable experiences than score an interview with a cultural figure I admire.
That was work. It wasn't life.
Now, at nearly 46, I'm struggling to find a full-time position. Somehow, I can't even land a junior writer job in marketing, public relations, and communications, as I potentially start over again in a new field that theoretically offers more stability — though it may also have an uncertain future.
I'm broke and have no retirement fund. If I'd remained in education, that almost certainly would not be the case. Instead, I'd be 10 years away from retirement, with ample time out of the classroom to travel and do other activities I enjoy. More importantly, I would have helped many more students improve their reading and writing skills.
However, I doubt that I would have felt tremendous gratitude for such rewards. I thought I was entitled to them.
Struggling as much as I have will help me appreciate simple consistency when I turn my professional life around, and I haven't ruled out a return to teaching in order to do so.
I love writing. But maybe having a job I just liked should've been good enough.
