You Can Love Your Work

by Charmie Gholson

originally published in Current Magazine, June 2004

In 1996, I was managing at Whole Foods Market. I liked my work, liked my co-workers, but I was not a spectacular bakery supervisor.

One day, my favorite teacher from high school came in. I was carrying a story with me, obsessing about it, working on it during breaks. I asked him to read it.  He said sure. I was elated.

He was back the next day. "What are you doing behind this counter?" he asked. "You need to go back to school and make a living with your writing."

"I can't," I told him as I handed a customer their bread. "I'm a single parent. I work."


"Okay," he said. "Then move to New York or Chicago and get an entry-level job in a publishing house. That way you can learn the industry. But you've got to do something with this talent, Charmie. Don't waste it."

Of course I was flattered, but moving away was out of the question. Besides, I didn't believe anyone would pay me to write. So, I went back to work slinging bread. Three years later, I had a new husband, a new baby and we were broke. Desperate, I took a job cleaning house and told myself, "This is temporary."

I had cleaned houses years before, carefully selecting my clients, all of whom were overwhelmed, freaked-out mothers with small children who just wanted the damn bathroom cleaned. Not my new boss. Within a few short weeks, I despised both her and the work. Once, while showing off her new Jordache jeans, she bragged about how much money she'd won gambling in Las Vegas. Hours later, she complained about my work, threatening to dock me.

The final straw came on the day I was greeted with outright hostility. She had her tiny fists parked on her Jordached hips. "I'm not a happy camper," she announced. "You're not dusting my UM knickknacks well enough." I apologized and told her I would fix the problem. We did a walk through of the house. She pointed and complained then picked up her little dog and went upstairs.

I was feeling pretty shitty before going into the main-floor bathroom, but the nasty mess waiting for me added outrage to my insult. I shut the door and stood there, crying furiously.

And then something happened. I just sort of snapped.
 
I found her upstairs. "Hey lady," I said. "I've got a great idea. Why don't you go clean that shitty toilet?" Then I put on my shoes, walked to the car and cried all the way home, calculating our loss of income.

Once home, I saw a Current Magazine lying on the kitchen table. At that moment, I remembered the advice from my dear teacher. I called the number on the masthead and asked if they needed help. "We do need someone to do billing," they said. "I can do that, " I lied.

Amazingly, they hired me. I was in an "entry-level job in a publishing house."I immediately started shoving my writing at the editors and couldn't believe it when they gave me an assignment. Armed with my first published article, I marched over to the Ann Arbor Observer and started harassing the editors there too. I was relentless. Possibly obnoxious.

I became a columnist at Current (someone much more qualified took over the billing), a regular contributer to the Observer and several other local and national publications. Today, I am honored write bios of amazing speakers for  LEAP and help with Development. I've been published in The New York Time Magazine.  I own and edit my own newspaper. Not only do I get paid to write, but I'm also able to contribute to and impact my community. I make my living by writing.

I'm especially honored when people share their stories with me, allowing me to print them. I've cried with families in their living room, laughed on barstools and listened for hours on the phone.

In 2000, I wrote an Observer feature entitled, "Gay In Ann Arbor," profiling several gay, lesbian and transgendered folks. Shortly after it was published, I ran into my teacher again. We hugged. I was pregnant and he hugged my belly, worshiping the largeness. I asked him, "Why don' t you have any children?"

"Oh, it's a long story," he laughed. Then he took me aside and confided, "Thank you for writing that article. It helped me come out as a gay man, at age 43."

Fate moves her hand in hidden ways. The truth is, without his encouragement, that story might never have been written. So the blessings came around full circle.

Trust me on this: you can do what you love and still earn a living. This is America, damn it! All you really need is actual ability (very important), determination, perseverance and the willingness to say, "Hey lady, why don't you go clean that shitty toilet?"