The Hunt for Stability
From Tight Budgets to New Beginnings
After saying goodbye to my mother at the airport, I left the comfort of Peter and Makiko’s home. They had graciously hosted us during her visit, and it was a warm reminder of the connection I had through my half-brother’s family. But as much as I appreciated their kindness, I was ready to be on my own again. Independence called, and with it, the challenges of transition.
One of these possible jobs
Transitions, I’ve found, often come with resistance. It’s as though the gears of life take a moment to catch when shifting. For a few days, I felt adrift—unsure of what job I wanted and wrestling with the weight of financial pressure. There’s a particular kind of anxiety that comes with watching your savings dwindle, a suffocating reminder that action is necessary.
I set to work updating my resume, printing copies, and walking into places to hand them out. The process was disheartening. AI bot interviews for grocery store positions led nowhere. Even the simplest jobs seemed out of reach. With each rejection—or lack of response—my sense of self-worth wavered.
To distract myself, I spent time near the botanical gardens, surrounded by lush greenery that offered a brief reprieve from my internal storm. But the weight of uncertainty loomed, and I knew I needed to broaden my scope. That’s when Townsville started to emerge as a possibility.
The idea came from several nudges: the memory of a bouldering gym I’d visited with my mother, a passing comment in an interview for a sales job I ultimately turned down, and an impactful conversation with a man I met on the streets. These signs all seemed to point me south.
At a free camping spot near a highway bridge, a hub for travelers, I spent my evenings with a rotating cast of characters. One night, an Aboriginal woman approached our group, asking for milk, coffee, and cigarettes. She was visibly intoxicated, her words muddled. But amidst her ramblings, she muttered something profound: “The real evil isn’t fear; it’s doubt.” Her words stuck with me, though I never fully unpacked their meaning.
As I opened my mind to Townsville, I came across a job posting for a pool lifeguard. I had experience as a coastal lifeguard in Belgium, and this felt like the right fit. There was no contact number listed, so I called the pool directly and managed to get an email address for the manager. I crafted one of my best emails—sometimes, when it really matters, I can pull off a good one—and sent it off. Their response was immediate and positive: I was a perfect fit, and they wanted to meet.
After a week of back-and-forth emails, I decided to take the leap and drive to Townsville. I followed up, as I’ve learned is crucial, and secured an interview. The meeting went well, and they offered to pay for the necessary first aid and lifeguard certifications in exchange for my commitment to stay for a set period. I shook David’s hand, and just like that, I had a job.
The relief was immense. The suffocating pressure of dwindling funds lifted, replaced by a sense of stability on the horizon. The following week, I completed my certifications, met new people, and began settling into this new chapter. The bouldering gym became a hub for movement and connection, and I discovered other perks, like access to swimming pools and saunas. Stability had arrived, and with it, a renewed sense of possibility.
As I sat in a park near one of the pools, reflecting on the journey that had brought me here, I felt immense gratitude. The transition had been turbulent, but as always, the resistance gave way to movement. I was ready to embrace the next chapter with open arms.