Ogunquit

In ‘94, just graduated, I was offered a job managing a beachfront motel in Maine. The employers—a generous older couple I worked for the summer before—were excited to show me around.

You’ll be perfect here!

The manager’s studio apartment—all mine if I wanted it—had a kitchenette and a Murphy bed. The couple had sweet memories of living in such quarters as newlyweds.

I politely declined, citing the offseason gray, cold, and the loneliness—not my fear. I reflected on their disappointed smiles for years after that. Someone else’s faith in my potential was too much to behold.