November 19th, 2024 marked the day when paperwork was shuffled, stamps were stamped and an opinion became a voice.
I arrived in Boston on March 21st, 2000 – a time Chuck Klosterman described as still masquerading as the 90s. That illusion ended on September 11th, 2001. I was a visitor to the United States, peering in from the margins, shifting uncomfortably as I experienced anger starting to rise from grief and hurt.
A couple of weeks later – on Sunday, September 23rd – I belonged in the darkened rooms behind the dense beer-aged wooden doors of the Green Briar in Brighton (in the west of Boston), as Pádraic Joyce lit up Croke Park and Galway were crowned All-Ireland football champions. Later, I spilled on to the streets, squinting into the early daylight filled with Galway pride, only to see rows of American flags waving in solemn unity. In that moment, I realised this was neither the time nor the place for the maroon and white of my Tribes.
With a fierce drive to prove myself, I was the underdog from Milltown determined to outwork everyone in the room. My Irish education had instilled the belief that we could outsmart the Americans – far from true!
With a marketing background, I knew the competition was fierce, but a chance to work on an arts festival led to an opportunity at the mayor’s office in the City of Boston.
For six years I thrived in a whirlwind of stormy and sharp repartee, combustible meetings, rampant drama and high-energy marketing heaves – an intense and unforgettable learning experience.
Working in the arts and tourism department, I had the outrageous fortune of being on the team organising victory parades for the Patriots (American football), Red Sox (baseball), Celtics (basketball) and Bruins (ice hockey). One of my tasks was designing access-all-areas passes – the hottest currency of the moment. My Italian-born supervisor was a razor-sharp behavioural specialist in sartorial splendour, running purely on instinct and unparalleled marketing wit. Being one of the youngest in an Italian-American-dominated office often felt like living in a live-action sitcom and a place where I earned the name “Johnny Cannoli”.
Though email was standard in most workplaces, City Hall emphasised face-to-face interactions. Mayor Thomas Menino disliked voicemail, insisting everyone deserved an authentic engagement.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t belong, especially when discussions turned to political organising – conversations where I felt I had nothing meaningful to contribute. I only had opinions. Leaving City Hall felt like leaving family.
I took a leap into grad school for graphic design – an enriching experience, but a financial paper shredder. Soon after, I married a New Yorker following a whirlwind romance.
Embracing my rural roots, I moved to western Massachusetts. Though beautiful, its isolation left me yearning for the energy and connection I had known in Boston. It was an ill-suited backdrop for a personal crisis that struck our marriage – not anyone’s fault, just cruel luck. With nowhere to turn, something inside me shut down. To this day, I have no memory of large parts of 2015 – not even a haze. I eventually resurfaced, spurred by a job change (I don’t even recall the interview) and the appearance of two tiny spots on a doctor’s ultrasound screen. The twins were coming.
The new marketing role with an international NGO was an environment where I started to energetically pursue solutions and where I had to lead a larger team. The twins had made me see life again and it was spreading into every aspect of my waking and (loss of) sleeping hours.
My career started to find its dancing shoes and I secured a move back closer to Boston when I began a new role at the Harvard Art Museums, which sat in the warm embrace of its university campus. The people at the museum taught me the power of being both fiercely and fearlessly positive. It felt as though the university’s ethos – transforming confidence into a driving force for innovation – was woven into everything around us. It was in that environment that I realised that US careers are built upon confidence, and hard work is the bank that confidence draws from.
I eased into taking some classes and unlocked a fresh curiosity within me. The secret of learning finally dawned on me in my 40s – be curious, be organised.
On November 19th, 2024, I stepped through a door and emerged as a US citizen.
The Dream. The Voice. My political views are thankfully well scaffolded in liberal Massachusetts, but now comes the journey of belonging and holding tight to that underdog spirit for life.
- John Connolly is from Milltown, north Co Galway. He started at Harvard in 2019. He is director of marketing at the Harvard Art Museums within the university.
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