Occupational Hobo

Hobo often has such a negative connotation. Vagrant. Directionless. Homeless. Well, I am an occupational hobo. To me the word hobo brings up warm memories of a man named Jake.


My grandfather used to tell me a story of how when he was a little boy growing up on a farm in Marion, Pa. in the 1920s, a man used to come to his house and offer his services. In exchange for a meal or small change, this man would do odd jobs around the farm. My great grandmother would indulge him. I can't remember now what kinds of chores he would do, but I know that my grandfather would follow him around some. This man was named was Jake. It is no coincidence at all that my first pet was a stray cat that wandered into my grandparents' back yard (and their hearts) who they named Jake. When we played pretend, my grandfather always chose the name Jake for his character.


Remembering sitting on my grandparents' screened porch listening to stories about a hobo harkens up fond memories for me today. I get a warm feeling when I hear the word hobo. It is too bad that I don't get those same warm feelings when I think about my lack of career direction. I have worked in retail, the food service industry and education. I have been a cashier at a retail card establishment, a pretzel broker at a mall, a sandwich creator working with a woman who incessantly talked to herself, a special education aide and data processor for Dept. of Defense Dependents' Schools, a research assistant for a very demanding professor, a teaching assistant, a college instructor many times at many institutions and a high school teacher. I have probably had other occupations but have forgotten them by now. There have been aspects of all of these jobs that I have liked...and others that I have loathed. But all of these jobs have one thing in common, I have left them all. 


When I leave one job for another, I fret. Just ask anyone in my family. I have a Master's degree in worrying and fretting. I feel like a failure because I didn't like the job. Maybe people depended on me and now I am letting them down. I am a people-pleaser by nature so I want people to like me. I work hard but tend to not stay in a job longer than a few years.


It is only within the last few weeks that I have decided to call myself an occupational hobo rather than an indecisive flit. Much like Jake, I move from job to job. My grandfather never said that Jake was desperate when he arrived on the farm or sad when he moved on. He just moved along. That is what he did. That is what I will do. I will stop worrying about how moving on or how occupational gaps will look on my resume. I'm an occupational hobo. I move along.