Dear Michigan (New Web Address),

Not sure if I ever told you this about me, Michigan, but I have this thing for irony. So, when I first started this blog, I chose the web address as a somewhat sarcastic response to the irony of the situation. I fell in love with you and I want to be with you. The initial reaction I've recieved from people around the country (including some from Michigan) - though every one of them has been supportive and encouraging of my desire to move and they are all genuinely excited that I have found Q and you, they all wish me well - the very first reaction from nearly every one of them was this: "You want to move where? Do you realize what you're saying?" And so on. The words were different at times, the message the same. "Why Michigan?!? What are you thinking?!?" So, I decided to respond somewhat tongue-in-cheek with the web address. And I try, in every post, to explain what I'm thinking and what I'm feeling and how the two go hand-in-hand. I try to give the many reasons why Michigan. Of course the biggest reason is quite simple - Q!

But here's the one thing I've never wanted to do: I don't want to give you a reason, Michigan, to even bother thinking about how some people react. I mean, after all, that's sort of the point of the blog - to remind you of all the wonderful things about you. So I've decided to alter my attempt at sarcasm. I have created a new web address (LoveInMichigan) for the blog as it seems much more apt. And I have moved all the posts over. From now on I'll write the blog to the new address (though I don't want in any way to inconvenience any of the people following the blog, so I will also continue to post here, at least for awhile). I just wanted to let you know about the new web address in case you might like to follow me there. And I also wanted to tell you, Michigan, that I love you.

Dear Michigan (Once Upon A Time),

Q and I were talking on Skype the other night and she said that she thought what the blog needed was a little more me. I reminded her that I’m not the sort of person who likes to write/talk about himself. You might not think it, Michigan, the way I open up each week, but that’s because I focus on her and I focus on you. I imagine many people might still think that’s hard to do, but I think if you just sort of give yourself permission to feel what you feel in the first place, then writing about what you love most is easy. You just find somewhere secluded and you let yourself go and it sort of comes out on its own, like once you’ve opened the gate, so to speak, it can’t not come through.

I admit, when Q said that, I resisted. I said, well, isn’t that what I’m doing already, revealing a little about my personality by expressing the way I feel about you and about Michigan? She didn’t really budge. And that’s another thing about her that I love. She says it like it is. So after I got off Skype, I thought about what she said and I guess it might actually be a little awkward for you, Michigan, the fact that I write about you every week and yet you don’t know me like Q does. I mean, she’s known for four years now, but you haven’t. So, I’ll try to take her advice. I’ll try to tell you a little about my story and hope doing so won’t seem too self-centered. After all, I told her, this blog is my love letter to Michigan.

Once upon a time in a land too far away (i.e. upstate New York) there was this man and this woman and they met in a paint store of all places and they fell in love and the man got drafted into the army and they spent much of the next few years apart, but when he came home they got married and then he got called back into active duty overseas. It was the 60’s (Q said, "they don’t even know how old we are" and I told her "I’m not sure that should matter," but hopefully this helps a little). After the man came home again, he and the woman lived in a small apartment and the woman got pregnant and nine months later, after 17 hours of excruciating labor (hey, I’m shy, what can I say), the woman gave birth to a boy. No, really, it’s true.

The boy was full of light and love and happiness (he’s been told he still embodies these things, which is the only reason I mention them now). He was pretty sick as a child. Not a bubble boy exactly, but close. He spent a few weeks (sometimes a couple months) each year in an oxygen tent (which is basically just an old hospital bed with this way-too-thin mattress and this thick barely-able-to-see-through plastic tent hanging down all around it and this machine that pumps in air you can breathe because for some reason or other your lungs don’t feel like doing the work on their own). The boy had a lot of days like that, usually after he was out running and laughing in the yard, or playing under the lilac bushes, or climbing trees. Six months after the boy was born he weighed a lead-bottomed 25 pounds and there are photos that suggest he had one chin for each member of the Brady Bunch (including Alice, but not including Sam the Butcher). But that’s right around the time he started with the breathing problems and the hospitals. Of course, a year after he was born his parents had a baby girl, so maybe that’s when he really started getting sick.

They were very close despite the fact that the sister had a propensity to tick off three neighbor boys who were older and bigger and who hit a lot harder than her brother did. They hit the brother, that is, he didn’t hit her, though he did finally threaten to do just that. He used to hide during recess at school so he wouldn’t have to go outside, but the teacher always found him and made him go. He knew what would happen. He’d be playing and having fun with his friends and then he’d hear it from across the playground, his sister’s voice calling for help and even though he knew better he couldn’t stop his legs from running, couldn’t stop his hands from curling into balls of let-her-go fury and he’d hurl himself like a bundle-of-bones missile through the air into the boys. And that was usually the best he did. Two of them would hold him and the other would pound away (they took turns holding because they’d been taught to share). Until one day the boy came running to his sister’s side, but he stopped there before unleashing his tazmanian-devil self and he told that her he’d hold her while the boys swung away if she kept doing what she did to antagonze them (flirting the way eight-year-old New York girls tend to do). And it stopped.

I suppose that’s one thing about the boy you should know, Michigan. Someone can pound him and he'll take it, he's got a very long fuse, but if someone tries to hurt the ones he loves he’ll throw his body through the air to stop them. I don’t know how much to tell you. So I’ll just share one more thing today. Maybe, if you want to know more, I can share other anecdotes along the way. But I’m much more comfortable talking about Q and about you.

The boy’s first true love (almost three decades before he met Q) was this round leather ball and this hoop that someone had hung a bit too high and he had to dribble the ball (which was easier to do with two hands, but that wasn’t allowed) and he had to push it up into the air with all his strength like it was this small moon that had fallen and needed to get back into the sky and he’d push it up and it would rise a little and it would hang for an instant and then it would fall back down to earth through that hoop if he was lucky and it was the most exhilarating thing making it fall through that hoop and the most rewarding thing the boy had ever known (this was in a land far away and long before he had ever felt what it was like to hold Q’s hand, of course, or to kiss her tenderly or to sit with a big window behind them, her head on his chest, and talk about so many things).

In less than a week, Michigan, I’ll be out there with you and with Q for the entire month. I hope to find a job while I’m there. I hope to see as much of you as possible and to introduce myself more fully. I can’t wait to see Q and the mice and the rest of her family and her friends. I can’t wait to just be with her.

I don’t think love is one of those things that’s beyond words simply because it’s abstract; I think it’s beyond words because we use the words we know for such common things that they lose their potency and their magic. And love – this love I feel for Q and for you, Michigan – is the sort of thing that requires potency and magic. I miss you! I love you! Soon! xoxoxo

*Michigan photos courtesy of Anjan Reijinders

Dear Michigan (Some Things Just Stand Apart),

Every now and then you encounter someone who just stands out for some reason. Maybe it’s their sense of humor or their kindness or even their smile (and I don’t mean overall physical appearance as much as the way some smiles seem to reveal a true sense of character that’s more than charm or sex appeal, that’s more a manifestation of spirit for lack of a better word). It’s ironic, but for all the time I spend with words, they seem to abandon me most when I try to write about Q and how special she is. What I’m left with it seems are the ordinary, everyday words that never quite capture the essence of what I feel. Sometimes I tell her, “thanks for being you,” and sometimes she responds with a quote she came across once and she says, “Everyone else was taken.” But that’s one of the most beautiful things about the woman I love, her humility. It’s sort of like in the musical Billy Elliot when he shares the letter his dead mother left for him with his dance teacher. The letter reveals just how much Billy’s mother loved him and the teacher says, “She must have been special.” Billy says, “No, just me mum.” She was special and it’s easy for other people to see that. But, to Billy, that’s just the way she always was. That was just mom being mom. Q looks at herself that way. She doesn’t see anything that she thinks or says or does as special in any way, even though it’s easy for others to see just by watching the way she is with the mice or the way she genuinely wants to help people. It’s just her being her. And that’s part of what makes her so special to me.

Now, I mention this in part because you’re a lot like that too, Michigan. Not all of you, I’m sure, but there are parts of you that are special just being what they are. For example, you can go into any liquor store or wine shop in most states these days on a Friday evening and sample wines. Heck, Q and I just learned about a grocery store where you can drink wine while you shop (wonder if people buy more after imbibing). As fun as a wine tasting can be, some places make it an experience. Black Star Farms, in Suttons Bay, is one of those places that stand out just by being what it is. Q and I had the pleasure of stopping by the winery over the winter when we pretty much had the place to ourselves. As summer approaches, however, more and more people are looking for wine tasting experiences. I’m not sure you’ll find too many more memorable than Black Star Farms. As a matter of fact, I hope to take Q back there sometime soon and overnight at the Inn.

You can tell a lot about a winery by the wine. That’s a given. But you can also tell a lot by the place itself and by the people who work there. If you’re looking for one of those eye-catching-do-a-double-take-when-you-see-it places, you’ll want to stop by Black Star Farms. As you turn off the main road and enter the drive, for a moment, at least, it’s like being in Kentucky with the charming horse fence framing the soft slope of land. The drive curves down a slight hill and there you’ll find the Inn which is stately and grand, but never feels like too much. It fits the setting well and is really quite inviting. As you drive to the tasting room, you’ll pass the small café (aka Hearth & Vine) and farm market and the stables and you might even witness some sleek equine grace. There’s something majestic and potent and yet calming about the beauty of a horse. As an aside, I’ve never ridden myself, but that’s another of the many things I hope to do with Q one day (maybe in Wyoming or Colorado or Traverse City).

Black Star Farms is one of those places where you could spend most of the day. After a luxurious evening sleeping in the elegant Inn and having breakfast, you might be tempted to take a stroll and watch the horses. Apparently “the facility is designed for training,” but guests at the Inn are also encouraged to stable their horses. If you’re one of those guests, you may want to enjoy the grounds from a slightly higher point of view. Later, stop by the tasting room and watch cheese being made through a large window. You can even buy a sample of cheese to enjoy while you sample wines. The tasting room is spacious, yet comfortable.

And if you’re all about accolades, if you only take time to indulge in the best of things, well, Black Star Farms might just be your place. In addition to award-winning cheeses, the farm itself won an award for the work environment. That’s right, they seem to have figured out how to make work one of those things employees look forward to doing. And you can tell by the way they treat you. Q and I enjoyed an educational and yet fun tasting. When we were done, we mentioned that we were hungry but weren’t familiar enough with Traverse City to know where to have dinner. Two of the tasting room employees asked what we liked and then, in concert, suggested the same restaurant which turned out to be perfect. It wasn’t a big thing really, but it was the manner in which the two girls approached the situation. They didn’t just blurt out their favorite spot, but inquired first about our preferences. And that’s the way they made us feel during the tasting. Of course, if the results at the Great Lakes Wine Competition are any indication, 22 award-winning wines might suggest they’ve got pretty good wine too. I know Q and I enjoyed their wines enough to buy a few bottles. I work in wine country so I’m very familiar with wine tastings. There’s no question the biggest reason I enjoyed Black Star Farms was because I was there with Q. It’s that simple really, but the other reason that day stands out to me is because Black Star Farms is an experience.

We weren’t there when the café was open and we didn’t have the chance to enjoy the farm market (which I know Q would love), nor did we stay in the beautiful and tastefully done Inn, but I know we’ll be back and we will see what those elements of the overall experience are like. Q mentioned a quote to me last night that she encountered at the yoga studio and it was about the fact that you don’t go to yoga for this specific experience or that specific experinece. You just go for an experience and you allow yourself to be there in the moment and it’s that genuine experience that is meaningful (I paraphrase rather poorly). The same could be said of our visit to Black Star Farms. It was unexpected. We went to another winery first with no idea where to go next. We started our adventure late in the day and only had time for two or three stops. The girl at the first winery said, you should stop by B.S.F. and we did. From the moment we turned onto the property we felt drawn there. The fact that I’m writing about the experience months later indicates that I’m still drawn there.

When I write about how Q is this and how Q is that, I am of course very biased. But there’s a reason for that. I’ve met so many people over the years and few of them these days seem genuine. Few of us, I dare say, are just ourselves all the time. We usually have roles and responsibilities and for one reason or another they sometimes influence our personalities. So when you meet someone who doesn’t even know any other way to be, it’s more than refreshing. It's inspiring. Q says I’m sweet and romantic and wise. I don’t actually feel like I’m those things when I do anything in particular. It’s not something of which I’m cognizant of being or doing. And maybe that’s why it means something to her the same way watching her being a mom or listening to talk passionately about nutrition or about the many ways she wants to help people as a health coach all strike me as special. She’s just being herself and I just happen to find that self to be someone I want to be with. Black Star Farms is a small part of you, Michigan. But it’s one part that stands out. It’s one of your many wonderful bright spots. And I thought you should know that I see it for what it is, that I appreciate it for just being itself.

*photos provided by Black Star Farms

Dear Michigan (what is love but an opening of the possible),

This post is my attempt to make up for not posting last Friday. I'll post again tomorrow and this Friday, but starting next week I'll just post on Fridays. I hope that's okay. Working overtime, trying to find a job out there, and coming to see you when I can make writing two posts a week a little challenging. Once I'm out there, Michigan, I'll have more time to devote to bi-weekly posts, as I won't be looking for a way to get out there to be with you.

Below is a poem I wrote back in December. It still needs a lot of work, but I thought I'd share it with you. I hope you don't mind. It's a winter poem I guess (hence the winter pic), but it's really an anytime poem, an every day I see her poem. It's a poem about love, but even more it's a poem about loving youself enough to let yourself love. Anyway, Michigan, I ramble. You should probably know this about me. Chances are you've figured that out already. I miss you more than I have words to say, but I'm searching for those words. And I'm searching for a way to be there, to watch her spin that I'm-so-loved-for-just-being-who-I-am spin. For just being!

Tomorrow's post will focus on a special place up north and on Friday I'll write about other fun adventures. I'll also write about you, of course, and about Q. Until tomorrow, I hope this poem will work. I miss you Michigan. Each time I'm out there, coming back to NY is harder and harder. It's like my lungs adapt to the air out there, so when I'm here it's so much harder to breathe.

What is love but an opening of the possible?

– from “Target” by Jason Koo

I watch thru the window, you
on the pond moving snow,

trickle of coffee at my ear,
watch you hesitant

to stay where the surface is clear,
as if your feet might fail you,

so you push on, mind the edge
and all its hidden dangers,

but then you’re done
and you glide out to the spot

where you once went down,
you spin, there, arms wide,

pulling them in as you build up speed,
pulling them tight to your body,

like a long embrace,
and I’m at the door now, breathing

some of that same cool air,
steam rising from my hand

as I drink, and I watch,
and I hear you call my name.

Dear Michigan ("Nature is what we know, yet have not art to say")

I know it’s been a few days since I last wrote, Michigan, and I’ve already fallen off my schedule, but I’ll get back on track. I would have written Friday, but I was driving out to see you. I have to say, there was something wonderful about waking Q when I got there, the way she wrapped her arms around my neck in the dark and pulled me to her without saying a word. The way she kissed me in the silence, as if she’d been holding her breath since I’d last seen her and needed me to fill her lungs. I don’t know how to describe it, but it was soft and sweet and the sort of moment forever’s made of. I had planned to focus on a few other topics this week, but how can I not write about a part of you many people might not even be aware of, a part somewhere deep inside of me I want to keep to myself because Q and I had such a great time there? But that would be selfish. And the purpose of these letters is to remind you of just how special you are, to let you know that not everyone takes for granted the beauty and the strength and the love that you possess.

It was such a contrast to the previous weekend in the city, as we spent hours Sunday at Holly Park hiking one of the many trails. At times the natural world was so thick around us it felt as if we were hundreds of miles from the nearest people, but then the path would open slightly near the water and we’d be reminded that it was a holiday weekend as people kayaked and fished and splashed about here and there. But on the trail itself, it was mostly just me and Q and all that natural beauty (hers and yours alike). Q and I share quite a few things in common, like the fact that we love the hum of the city, the electricity you find there, as well as the solitude of being smack dab in the middle of nowhere and knowing, all the while, it’s really somewhere special. Sunday was one of those days where being removed for awhile from the rest of the world was exactly where we wanted to be. And the more I learn about you Michigan, the more I realize there are all sorts of beautiful places where I can be alone with you, where I can be alone with her.

I don’t know if anyone else has experienced this, but just being outside among the trees and the water and all the many animals, and stopping every so often to just be there with you in the moment, I fill then with something more than me, something pure and vital and that thing is love. It may sound odd, but I don’t really have the words. Like Emily Dickinson said, “Nature is what we know yet have not art to say.” But it’s like that when I’m with Q. It’s like there’s this deep invisible connection from the roots, like below our feet, deep down in the earth, part of us has been connected all our lives and when we’re together the rest of us catches on, the rest of us comes alive. I’m not talking passion (though I am very passionate about her) as much as I am this almost ancient essential part of us that has no name and doesn’t just exist inside us, but through us, around us. It’s a lot like the movie Avatar and the way the entire planet was connected, not just the life forms to each other, but even to those of the past, to all life. And in Holly Park, this past Sunday, Q and I stepped away from my job search and from the kids and from work and from the stress of all those miles that keep us apart some days. And it was then, while we were together with you, that I could feel what I feel every time I hear her voice over the phone, every time I see her smile, every time I hold her hand, only magnified. I could feel myself fill up, not just with myself, but with that something more, with that deep love that connects us at the roots. It was a simple day really with the woman I love. And it was wonderful!

Thank you for that, Michigan. I love you.

Here's another Emily Dickinson quote that I find relevant with regards to my feelings about Q and about you, Michigan: “Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.”

Dear Michigan (In Between There Are Doors),

William Blake is often quoted to have said: "in the universe, there are things that are known and things that are unknown, and in between there are doors." As interesting as Blake the poet, the artist, and the, perhaps, misunderstood man might be to discuss, it’s the quote itself that I find relevant. Let’s face it, the universe is a pretty big place. Yet somehow in all that vastness and in the expanse of time, as well, Q and I crossed paths in such a way that has brought us to this moment and to my writing about it. One of the things I know is that I love her very much and I want to be there with her (and, thus, Michigan, with you), to be able to simply look up at some point in the day, while doing some routine thing, and see her there. To know, at the end of the day, I’ll see that smile, hold her hand maybe for awhile, kiss her softly as I look into her eyes and tell her how I feel. Two of the many unknowns are how and when I’ll be able to do just that. But, as Blake suggests, it’s those in-between moments that offer myriad possibilities. And for every door we’re aware of, there seem an infinite number of which we remain unawares.

When I originally sat down to write about Blake's quote and about this topic, I started out writing about how, not too long ago, Q and I discovered one such door and, as often is the case, it turned out to be an unexpected surprise. I started writing about Cleveland and how it offered us a rendezvous that had a few benefits, the biggest of which was time. It took each of us about four hours to get there (that's four to five hours less than it takes me to get to her house) which meant we actually had a few hours on a Friday evening after work to spend together, unlike this coming weekend when I’ll drive out to see you and her and get there sometime around 2:00am. Cleveland was nice because we had the chance to have a nice dinner together in our room and to chat and to snuggle up close before going to bed. And it’s a pretty city with a excellent museum and some nice restaurants. But it isn’t you! Until I’m out there fulltime, I’m trying to find as many doors as possible, as many ways to spend time with the woman I love. And when I started out writing this post, I thought that was what I was writing about, all these different ways I might make time to be with her. Like this past weekend, we met in NYC. Q brought two of the mice with her and her niece (three wonderful kids). We did all the touristy stuff and I for one had an awesome time showing them around. But it wasn’t like it is when we’re with you.

Yes, in Cleveland, we were able to view some exceptional art. And one of the best things about being in a museum with Q (any museum) is this – not only do I get to appreciate brilliance, to look at paintings and sculptures, all the while being close to her, channeling it seems this intense emotional connection, but I also get to step back, every now and then, and watch her as she studies the art, the way she lingers at times over a piece, her wonder and happiness as palpable and as beautiful as any framed exhibit. And just watching her with the mice in The Village this past weekend was breathtaking. The way she is with them, the way her happiness truly starts with them, it's very special. Holding her hand as we walked through Central Park, pulling her close while we watched the musical, it all felt so good. But holding her hand and pulling her close anywhere feels good, especially in Michigan! And, at the end of the day, those other doors close. They’re just temporary. It’s like I get to step into all these cool doorways, but I never get all the way into the house before I have to go. Q picked up on that before I did. She doesn’t see those get-togethers as doors, so much, but I still do. They're just a different kind of door (not the get-me-all-the-way-to-where-I-want-to-be kind of door, but the get-me-through-the-week-something-to-look-forward-to-until-I-make-my-way-to-where-I-want-to-be kind), one that offers me the opportunity to be with her, which I’m certainly going to take advantage of every chance I get.

But this blog is about you. And, like I said before, what I want most is to be out there with you. So the doors I'm looking for most are all the things I can do to make that happen. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized maybe this blog is one of those doors. It allows me the chance to be with her, as I recall what we did. I admit that’s difficult at times simply because it makes me miss her even more (which I didn’t think was possible), but it also affords me the opportunity to relive so many special moments. And that makes it wonderful as well!

I set out to write these love letters to you to let you know how I feel, but I'd also love to hear what other people love about you. And if there's a special somewhere anyone would like me to devote a posting to, maybe they'll let me know. I intend to write about Traverse City and about Black Star Farms in upcoming posts. I also hope to work another poem in there, but I welcome any suggestions and any feedback. I'm driving out to see you this weekend, so chances are I'll have some new experience to write about from the trip. All I know is I can't wait to see you and I can't wait to see Q's smile and to wrap my arms around her and to squeeze. I just can't wait. In the meantime, though, I'm going to keep finding and making as many doors as possible because one of those doors will eventually lead me right to you.

*Top image - Claude Monet (French, 1840-1926). The Red Kerchief: Portrait of Mrs. Monet, c. 1868-1870. Oil on canvas; 99 x 79.8 cm. The Cleveland Museum of Art, Bequest of Leonard C. Hanna, Jr. 1958.39

**Bottom photo courtesy Christopher Kierkus

Dear Michigan (How Do I Find A Job?)

I miss you so. I know it doesn’t really help, my saying that. It certainly doesn’t change anything. But it’s the feeling I have welling up inside me and I want, no I need to share that with you.

As much as this blog is a love letter to you, as much as it’s about expressing how I feel, letting you know all the things I love about you (the people, places, things to see and to do), and about Q, it’s also about my attempt to find a way to get to you, and so I need to address the job search too. I’m pretty sure that won’t be as fun to write about, nor will it seem in any way romantic, but it’s certainly something to which many people can relate. And it is the key, it seems, to my being in the one place on the planet I truly want to be. With you!

About a year ago, the Grand Rapids Press ran an article on the jobless state of Michigan and the statistics were/are staggering - “This is life in a state with the highest jobless rate in the nation, where 449,000 people are out of work.” I feel the need to mention that I’m not trying to take someone else’s job. I’m not someone who can’t find employment in New York so he’s looking elsewhere. I have a job and if I could continue it from home or if I could somehow bring it with me, I would. But I can’t. And as nice as the people I work with are, and as nice as the area here might be, they’re not you. Not in any way, shape, or form. Not even close!

According to another article published in The Detroit News last year, the trend for nearly a decade is that more people have moved out of Michigan than moved in (about 109,000 more in 2008 alone, which for comparison sake is more than the population of the US Virgin Islands and nearly the population of Ann Arbor). I want to be with you because I see what you have to offer, not just to me, but to everyone. And if I can somehow find a job that allows me to show people just how special you are, that’s what I want to do. But in order for that to happen, I have to go through the process and, let’s face it, the process leaves a lot to be desired. Most employers want you to apply online these days, which saves on paper and is better for the environment, so I applaud them for that as loudly as I can. Now, if we could just develop a more economical use of time that would be even better.

Applying for a job is a full-time job. First you have to do some research. There’s not much sense in just sending out your resume everywhere, especially since it takes about an hour to work your way through many of those online applications. You know the ones that ask for every detail of your education and job history, the same information that’s on your resume. There may just be more job search engines than there are jobs. Half of them list the same job, require you to fill out all the pertinent information that the employers are going to ask, only after you fill that out you’re shipped off to another location (hopefully not like in one of those big wooden cargo boxes you see in movies about museums and precious artifacts that end up stored in the back of a warehouse somewhere). Once you get to that location, you fill out that pertinent information all over again, in addition to having the option of providing a cover letter and resume. This doesn’t count the research you really should do in the first place to try to match yourself up with the best fit. Of course, usually even the best fit doesn’t fit exactly. It’s like trying on jeans at the Gap – they either fit in the waist, but are baggy in the backyard or they’re low-rise-just-below-the-hip-fall-down-every-other-step jeans or they fit everywhere except the thighs (and if your thighs don’t fit you won't be wearing jeans).

Some employers look for specific education, some for specific experience. And, out of curiosity, where do they come up with 7 years experience? I mean why not 6 or 8, why not 5-10? Did they do a study that shows people with 7 years experience know enough to be self-directed and yet are still somewhat malleable? I’m not complaining. Just relaying a truth (and being a bit more sarcastic than I should be, perhaps). I do think if you aren’t going to put in the time to research and to apply and to do all the requisite steps to find yourself the best job for you then what sort of job are you going to do for them? And I'm lucky. I have a computer. But what if you don’t have a computer? What if you have to go to the library to get online to apply and then spend a few hours searching, looking at each job’s responsibilities and requirements, at least one hour filling out the application, to apply for one job? But here’s the thing, Michigan, you’re worth it. Every second of it! No question! Because working with such a beautiful state, working for a state that has so much to offer (okay, and the fact that it allows me to be with her), that’s what I want more than anything.

Here are some Web sites that might be helpful if you’re looking for a job too (just note that some search engines charge while others are free and, since there are so many, picking the right one or using several might be best). Good luck!

* About.Com's Top 10 Job Search Engines
* PC Mag's Top 20 Job Search Engines
* 12 Tips from Huffington Post on landing a job.
It's as much about selling yourself to yourself as it is to a potential employer (when I say "selling yourself" I mean metaphorically speaking, of course).
* Interview Tips
* Tips on Getting the Job You Want
* Tips on Getting a Job "When No One Wants You"
* Job Application & Interview Questions

image above via Detroit Institute of Arts: painting titled "The Harvest" – oil on canvas by Leon Augustin Lhermitte , late 19th/early 20th Century