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Considering all I've been through the last few weeks, it's highly appropriate that I ended up back on the South Carolina coast. I only wish the circumstances were happier this time around.
The obituary states it far better than I ever could:
James Martin Harvey
ISLE OF PALMS James Martin Jim Harvey, a resident of Isle of Palms, died on July 8, 2009, after a long and courageous battle with cancer. Visitation will be held on Saturday, July 11 at McAlister-Smith Funeral Home, 1520 Rifle Range Road, Mt. Pleasant, SC 29464 from 6:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. A memorial service will be held on Sunday, July 12 at 3:00 p.m. at the Isle of Palms United Methodist Church, 12 21st Ave., Isle of Palms, SC 29451 with reception following in the church Fellowship Hall. Burial will be private with Masonic Rites.
Jim was born on December 22, 1933, in Fairfax, South Carolina. He was the son of Morgan Newton Harvey and Willie Mae Tuten Harvey. Jim lost his father at age 12, and was raised by his widowed mother. After graduating from Brunson High School, unable to afford to go to college, he went to work as a pipefitters apprentice at the Savannah River Plant. Jim parleyed the opportunity into a lifelong career in industrial construction, working his way through the supervisory ranks, before retiring as Senior Vice President with Fluor Daniel Corp. in 1999. Jim was not satisfied to live a sedentary retirement. He founded RV Consulting, Inc., became a consultant to several industrial contractors and an expert witness in construction litigation until he was diagnosed with cancer. Construction was his avocation after retirement, as he built three residences and an office building, undertaking much of the manual labor himself. An inspiration to nearly everyone who knew him, Jim was living proof that someone willing to work hard in spite of their poverty, given the opportunity, could achieve and live the American dream.
Jim enjoyed retirement on the Isle of Palms, where he served on the City Planning and Zoning Commission. A lifelong Baptist, he joined the Isle of Palms United Methodist Church upon his retirement and served on the Board of Trustees and a number of committees. Jim was a 33rd degree Mason and Past Master of Buford Lodge No. 26 A.F.M. Fairfax. He was elected Knight Commander of the Court of Honor by the Supreme Council, Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry Southern District U.S.A. and was a noble in Omar Shriners. He loved to travel, and in his later years gained an affinity for cruising with the love of his life and wife of 54 years, Joan.
Surviving him are his beloved wife, Joan Smith Harvey; two sons, J. Martin Harvey, Jr. (Betsy) of Barnwell and Raymond B. Harvey (Alison) of Buford, Ga.; four grandchildren, James M. Harvey, III (Kelly) of Spartanburg, R. Daniel Harvey of Charleston, Julie E. Harvey of Barnwell, and R. Bryan Harvey (Amanda) of Columbus, Ga.; and one great-grandson, Hudson James Harvey, all of whom he adored, along with two sisters, Gloria H. Farmer of Beech Island and Betty Jo H. Nix of Brunson.
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I've been to way too many funerals lately. You know, when you're a kid, there are certain people around you that you just somehow expect to be immortal. These are the people who came before you and have never changed for as long as you've known them. They're the rocks, the foundation upon which you build all your expectations, your ambitions, and your worldview. They're just supposed to last forever. It's not until you reach the age when those 'rocks' start disappearing one by one that you finally begin to realize the impermanence of everything and recognize your own mortality for the first time. That's exactly where I am now, and this makes me extremely uncomfortable. I love coming home, but lately it seems that the only reason why I ever come home is to go attend another funeral. And if this is the only reason why I can make it home these days, then I kind of wish I never had to come home again.
Now, Uncle Jim and I weren't necessarily close by any measure, but he did still have a fairly major impact on my life. It's because of him that I'm a lifelong Carolina Gamecocks fan. When I was growing up, usually the only time I got to go see the Gamecocks play was when Uncle Jim had spare tickets. And while I didn't necessarily grow up poor, Uncle Jim was probably the richest man I knew. But despite the money and the incredible house down on Isle of Palms (that, for the record, I loved to visit,) I'll always remember him as a very kind and very approachable man. I guess a big reason for that was that he didn't come from money; he got his the old-fashioned way. There was no sense of entitlement or superiority there. He LIVED the American Dream. He was respected by everyone he knew and adored by his family. I guess in some ways I idolized him. Though I hadn't seen him much lately, I will miss him. Rest in peace, Uncle Jim. And thank you.
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So here I am again. Granted, I didn't grow up on the coast, but I was certainly born right here in Charleston, SC. And for some reason, all major events in my life seem to either occur on the coast or result in me ending up back here.
The ostentatious excess of Myrtle Beach taught me early on to respect and treasure the NATURAL beauty of our state and our planet.
My political views were molded by Marcella Guerriero and the good people from Charleston Peace and ThinkingPeople.
I found my family in North Charleston.
I learned in Mt. Pleasant that your REAL family isn't always the one with whom you share a genetic heritage.
And let's not forget Hilton Head...I was only there for about three and a half years, but those were probably the three most important years of my life.
I got engaged, got cheated on, got stabbed in the back...and survived it all.
I learned the value of real friendship.
I lost some of those very same friends due to some very bad choices.
I learned that all decisions, no matter how seemingly insignificant, have consequences you'd never expect.
I loved...and lost.
I nearly lost myself.
I found myself again with the help of the good people at Hilton Head Island Seventh-Day Adventist Church.
I gained a whole new respect for the working class.
I learned to appreciate cultures and perspectives different from my own.
I grew up, moved on...and in retrospect, almost wish I hadn't.
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And now I'm facing another major life decision. I'm standing at the crossroads, almost afraid to take the next step. Right now, I've got two firm job offers on the table already and have a third interview coming up. Most of you already know what the offers are, but I'll re-state them anyways....
First off, there's another House of Delegates campaign in Virginia that's offering me a position as a field organizer. Yes, it's only $1500 a month, but it comes with free housing and a chance of redemption in the state of Virginia. It wouldn't be any different than my last job, but it'd be for new bosses on a new campaign; in other words, a fresh start. The closest thing to a "reset" button that you're going to find in this lifetime.
On the other hand, there's the position I'll be interviewing for next week: an assistant director's position for a major grassroots organization in Washington, DC. This would be, for all intents and purposes, a major promotion from the kind of work I've been doing lately. It'd come with a lot more responsibility, but assuming I'm up to the task, it could lead to much bigger and better things as well. And it'd be right in the heart of the metaphorical beast: what political nerd doesn't end up in DC eventually?
Or, I could move south to Ft. Lauderdale. One of my best friends from high school has offered me a job as an administrative assistant for the company she works for. No, this isn't even close to political work, and it'd only pay $10 an hour. But at least I'd have a place to stay until I got things sorted out.
Now, this last offer intrigues me. In a lot of ways, it'd be a giant step BACKWARDS, but is that necessarily a bad thing? Yes, politics are what I know and what I excel at doing. But just because you're good at something doesn't necessarily mean you WANT to do it. In all honesty, I've spent so much time on the campaign trail the last few years that I'm beginning to get burnt out on it. I keep doing it, though, since I now have a four-page-long resume with nothing on it but campaign work. It's part of the weird dichotomy that is Harold. On one hand, I love going to new places, meeting new people, and taking on new challenges, and let's face it, the campaign trail is ideal for anyone like that. But, on the other hand, I don't want to do this FOREVER. I WOULD like to eventually settle down somewhere and not have to look for a new job every six months. A little stability is not necessarily a bad thing, and I've had NONE of that recently. And let's face it, I'd love the chance to move back to the beach. This time, I'd be coming in with ten years' more wisdom and experience and would be earning $3 an hour more than I was getting paid the last time...
And even if I decided that I just can't resist the siren call of the campaigner's lifestyle, then bailing out in the middle of the '09 cycle wouldn't necessarily be a career-killer. I wouldn't HAVE to stay in Ft. Lauderdale forever; I could always bide my time and jump into a race in the 2010 election cycle. The more I think about it, the more it feels like this is exactly what I ought to do. It would give me some breathing room; a chance to take a step back and re-evaluate my priorities. With everything else I'm dealing with right now, this might just be the mental-health vacation I need to take in order to keep myself sane.
I don't know. What do you think?
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One thing I've always enjoyed doing when I'm on the beach is to wade out in to the ocean only to about an ankle-depth level and just stand there. Soon the waves start eroding the sand out from under my feet. After a while, I end up standing only on the sand collected under the arches of my feet. It's a very uncomfortable position to be in, but there's no danger in it. There's always more sand just below wherever my feet are currently positioned, and a short step just a couple of inches to the left or right of where I'm currently standing will bring my feet into instant contact with fresh new sand. All I have to do is move. I think that's a pretty good analogy for where I am in my life right now: in an uncomfortable position that a little motion would relieve.
But, sometimes, choice just isn't as much fun as it ought to be. Life interferes with my ability to be decisive.
xoxo