Blog Posts

Thomas Wolfe Was Wrong!

Who says you can’t go home again? At the age of 55, I found that while you may not be able return home, you can go to the House again.

Twenty-five years ago I was finishing up my masters degree in international affairs (not long before the fall of the Berlin Wall rendered obsolete almost everything I’d learned). I had just landed a job I had dreamed about ever since I was a teenager: working on Capitol Hill for a member of Congress.  

I loved working on the Hill and ended up spending five-and-a-half years there before the congressman I worked for died. Rather than stay in DC, I returned home to New Jersey with my wife and our three-year-old son. I spent much of the next decade working as a speechwriter for a senior state, and later federal, official. When she completed her public service, I decided to strike out on my own as a free-lancer, which I did for more than 10 years. 

My free-lancing days were great. I worked from home, I could pretty much set my own schedule and I rarely had to put on a jacket and tie. I had a steady stream of clients who valued my work and paid me well for it. From a personal standpoint, I loved being able to attend all of my kids’ games and concerts, having dinner every night as a family and even actively caring for my parents in their final illnesses.

After a while, though, I was clearly becoming too comfortable with this arrangement—especially the working-at-home part. I knew things had gone too far this past fall when my daughter, a high school senior with off-campus lunch privileges, brought some friends home at lunchtime and I was still in my pajamas, sitting in my La-Z-Boy, watching The Price is Right.  

We were both embarrassed. Well, actually, I was only slightly chagrinned. She was mortified. From that day forward, anytime she was coming home for lunch, she’d text me, “Are you dressed?” The unspoken message was, “If not, hide upstairs, I’m bringing friends home.” I started to think that it might be time for a change.

Not long after, a call came from the office of the congressman who occupied the seat held by my former boss 20 years ago. He wanted to know if I would be at all interested in joining his staff as communications director.

My immediate gut response (voiced only in my head) was, “Why would I want to?  Been there, done that!” But I didn’t dismiss the idea out of hand.  Over the course of several more conversations, the idea began to appeal to me. I realized I missed having colleagues. I missed the discipline of getting up every morning and going to work. And, I thought, at my age (55), it might not be a bad idea to add a few more years to my federal pension, already vested two decades earlier.  

So after negotiating my salary and work arrangements (I wouldn’t have to move back to Washington; I could work in New Jersey), I accepted.

It’s now been four months since I returned to the regular workforce. It’s been an adjustment, although the change hasn’t been as difficult as I imagined. I am still getting used to rising as early as I now do (I am not a morning person) and the commute is a bear (even by New Jersey standards), but I am glad I made the decision I did.

The work is interesting. I really like my colleagues. I don’t have to worry about finding clients. And, with my son graduating college in May and my daughter leaving for college in August, I no longer need the flexibility that I valued so much when I was free-lancing.

Of course, there are a few things that took some getting used to. The average age of Hill staffers is probably in the mid- to late 20s. When I first worked on the Hill, I was 31—a relative oldster even then. Now, I am up there with Methuselah.   

When I was introduced to the staff and one young man said, “Nice to meet you, sir,” I felt really old. But my younger colleagues seem to appreciate being able to tap my “wisdom and experience” from time to time, and I am inspired by their youthful enthusiasm and idealism.

It is said that as one gets older, it is more difficult to make radical life changes. But I haven’t found it to be anywhere near as difficult as I thought. The hardest part was convincing myself I could do it. After that, the rest has seemed pretty easy.

So while some may think that Thomas Wolfe was right when he wrote You Can’t Go Home Again (1940), I don’t agree. I have found a new work home—back in the House, where I started my career 25 years ago.