Being Brave

Recently, I mentioned struggling for blog topics.  One of my readers suggested replaying blog posts from when I first started writing Middle Passages. No one was reading me then, so the old posts would be new to my current readers.  I hadn't given the idea a lot of thought...but then, the same person who offered the suggestion, did something brave yesterday that resonated in me.  It also reminded me of this blog post, which I wrote in 2009, not to long after my "life altering" job elimination.   So, you all are getting a golden oldie (albeit an unread one), in honor of Robin.  (Yes, V-log girl, this is for you.)
 
In a phone conversation with a friend the other day in which I sought her gardening advice, she finished her description of mixing manure and peat moss with the following comment: "Be brave."

"Be brave?" I thought. In the garden, I can be brave, but in the rest of my life it’s a struggle.I hung up pondering her comment. Am I brave? As a lifeguard, I saved an exchange student who, unable to swim, also couldn’t read a sign and stepped over a drop off. Even though I got paid for it, maybe that was brave? After college, I visited my sister and traveled around Australia. That only gets a “sort of brave” because she was a lifeline. It was brave, I suppose, to go through a semi-open adoption process which resulted in the arrival of our beautiful daughter--and I know I was brave when I initiated an in-person meeting with her birth family a few years ago.

Career-wise though, brave has never been a modifier I’d use to describe myself. To some degree complacent might fit, but that’s harsh. Perhaps "safe" would work better. I damn myself by saying this, but there is an explanation. While it was important to me to do my best job, my employment has always taken a back seat to my family. We needed the income, so working was non-negotiable. Every paycheck arrived though, attached to a gut wrenching tug of war, because I was not with our daughter. But I was good at my job and stayed at it because I could do it while maintaining a strong focus on her. Somehow, in spite of the endless pulling and pushing, I managed to be successful at both. But I was never brave enough to determine what I really wanted in a job, because leaving my employer might have meant tipping the scales from the balance I’d constructed.

It seems that many women my age, those of us who were young in the sixties and seventies, were raised with traditional mothers as role models. Somewhere in our teens or so, the woman’s movement became big and suddenly, doors opened. Yet for many of us, our formative years instructed us in different career aspirations, so there was confusion as to how to step through.

I walk with women who are from the same generation and it seems that whether we are home or working, we lack confidence in our roles. Mostly I think though, that we are all brave in minor ways for which we don’t give ourselves credit. One friend thinks she should have been a teacher, but didn’t have the financial resources to go back to school while she was raising her family. She adopted three children, traveling to Columbia and the Philippines to bring two of them home. She’s brave. These days, when the phone calls come, she substitute teaches. That’s really brave. Another friend stopped working outside the home when her son arrived. Because she wants to write but is lacking the confidence to submit her work, she has joined the garden club and agreed to write their newsletter, which in my mind is brave. Yet another friend is like me. She’s my age, worked the same amount time for her employer, grew organically in her career and got laid off. She’s in the process of networking and finding a new career. That’s being brave.

One day at work, when my daughter was sick and I was worried about not being with her, a woman I admire said: “Think of the role models we are creating for our children. Our daughters and sons will grow up knowing woman will work, that they can successfully raise a family while challenging their minds and contributing income.” Perhaps going to work everyday was brave.

I think my girl will be braver than me, but until I know that for sure, I need to set an example for her to make certain she grows up with the confidence to pursue her own goals. To that end, I’m going have to muster up my self-assurance and start some dedicated networking out there soon, making sure to land on a job that I’ll love.

In the meantime, I’m sitting here each day writing this blog and putting it out into cyberspace for anyone to read. And, because it’s not something that you’d necessarily stumble upon out there in the Web, I’m telling people about it too. That’s either brave or insane. I’ll leave that judgment up to you.

Weekend Warrior

You would think that with my “free” time lately, I’d get out of the practice of packing all the yard work into the weekend. To some degree my habits have changed but as for gardening, up until this weekend spring has been cold and damp. Of course with my daughter home on vacation this past week, it rained every day until Thursday and then she and I went out of town—so nothing of consequence was attempted outside until Saturday, when I accomplished a lot. A brief or not so brief synopsis follows:

Tilled and loosened the soil with a mattock, mixed six bags of compost with equal parts of peat moss and spread wheelbarrows full of the stuff across three separate gardens. Fertilized eight rose bushes, sprayed weed killer along the cracks of the “upper” patio, transplanted three hostas that were hidden behind the rhododendrons to the shady corner by the shed. Deadheaded the hydrangeas and split yellow and red daylilies from the garden by the bedrooms and planted them in the garden by the garage. Grabbed the mattock again, and dug out fern roots from among the sprouting daylilies, an annual requirement least they take over the world. Planted a spent tulip display left over from Easter by the front lamp post--not sure whether I’m supposed to wait until autumn to do that or not, but I left the greens on.

Returned to the house and cleaned out the 17 (all right, I'm embellishing, there were only eight) containers of leftovers cluttering the fridge and made herbed spaetzle (chives and sage are already up in the garden, the fresh parsley came from the fridge) to sauté for a side dish to go with grilled boneless pork ribs for dinner. I trashed the kitchen in the process, so I washed dishes and cleaned batter smeared counters.

Next, I joined my daughter who is working off her cost of a school trip to Costa Rica planned for next winter (we call it her “Costa Lotta” trip), and helped her bleach the mildew off of the front porch railing (for you Boston Globe readers, yes, that porch railing). Apparently I sighed so many times while scrubbing that she evicted me, so I returned to the yard; transplanted a wayward foxglove from the woods to the garden and shifted around others that had the audacity to seed themselves where they wanted in back. Cooked dinner and a banana bread for this mornings’ coffee for the seniors.

So here we are Monday morning and of course, with all the bending lifting, walking, squatting, twisting, turning, climbing, digging and hoeing I did all in one day, I am sore to the bone. As my spine cracks from the simple effort of sitting in this chair, I’m wondering whether I’ll be an acceptable volunteer for the seniors, or if I should sign myself in when I arrive and sit right down with them.

Fall Back Position

I had a stressful sleep last night. Yes, I believe that the full moon impacts sleep cycles and it’s scheduled to rise, round and yellow on Saturday. That aside though, I lay awake wondering how I’d cram everything I need to do this morning into the few hours we have before leaving for a doctor’s appointment an hour away and then going to see my sister, who lives an hour in another direction. It’s all manageable; it’s simply that like the shadows in the bedroom, things grow large and insurmountable after midnight, when in the light of day they shrink to life size. Nonetheless, I’m tired this morning.

Part of the reason for the tossing, turning and pillow-pounding is that my former employer had another layoff at the beginning of the week and I’ve been in touch with one of those affected. While I am more than two months beyond it and see a clear picture of at least part of my next career path (you are reading it), I feel her pain. Or, perhaps it’s that I feel a shadow of my own hurt, and I don’t wish that on anyone. Meanwhile, my “former employer” alumni network on LinkedIn reports ongoing senior level hiring at the old company, and I wonder, cynically it must be stated, how many laid off district managers add up to two new Senior Vice Presidents? Enough said. No need to go down that path, other than to say I’m sure they are doing what they believe must be done in order to save the company--and since I own stock it is in my best interest that they succeed.

So, on the not impossible list of things to accomplish this morning before driving up the highway: a networking letter to a kind person who emailed in response to my Boston Globe article. For the millionth time I’ll say, you never do know when a networking opportunity will come up--but I guess if you broadcast your jobless status across the entire region, you may be more likely to get a bite. Hmmm, does anyone know how one goes about hiring a plane to fly a banner? Seriously though, reaching out in this specific way wasn’t in the plan when I wrote that story five weeks ago, but I’m all about looking on the positive side these days. Fingers crossed that in some regard it pans out.

If not, and worse comes to worse, I have a mainstream publication to add to my novice writer’s resume, which works just fine for me.

Blurred Vision

Off topic, but it is Tax Day. When the alarm went off this morning and the radio disc jockey announced the date I panicked, even though our taxes are long complete and returns deposited…

Before the alarm, I was in the middle of a jumbled dream that included my second Vice President of Human Resources at the old company (gone since 1989) quizzing me about my thoughts on the current state of the organization.

Then the third Vice President of Human Resources--there were four, though number three had the longest duration--drove a jet ski onto a tropical beach, engraving a channel into powdered white sand until pausing at the feet of one of his former secretaries, who was reclining on a lounge chair in her bathing suit. She, by the way, hasn’t been employed there in something like 15 years. In the next sequence, I walked into a mammoth lobby tiled in gray slate squares where two sets of industrial-carpeted steps climbed up to a mezzanine, and discovered store managers from this same employer (one who contacted me by LinkedIn this week, so apparently has permission to appear in this dream) arranging visual displays with rows of bright colored pumps and folded blouses. I leaned on the balcony above them as they buttoned pink skirts, compared pastel plaid bottoms and laid each ensemble on just the right step. The LinkedIn manager asked me if I wanted to stay for the show, and I responded, it must be noted with a smile, “Nope, I don’t work here anymore.”

I walked out the door, down a lush pathway in the rain (don’t ask me; it was sunny at the beach) on my way to my college roommate’s home in Montana. (She currently resides on the East Coast.) In my dream, she had recently placed her 10-year-old son on a bus to a photography course (he's almost 18 now, and a professional photographer www.curtis-photo.com/index.php), and while slogging through a downpour, I thought to myself, I can’t wait to get back to her house because my glasses are there. I am so blind, why in heavens name did I leave this morning without them?

Beep. The alarm goes off. It’s not a full moon and last night's dinner wasn’t particularly spicy.

Anyone care to interpret?

Dollars and (Common) Sense

I’m pretty sure that whenever I’m in good shape pertaining to my job loss, it’s denial—because when things appear especially positive something sneaks up to remind me that nothing is the way it used to be.

I sat at a maple table in the high school library today with parents of other sophomores, listening to the guidance counselors sketch out the next two years so we could plan for college. Before I could begin to focus on the speaker, I had to digest the fact that sitting across from me was the mother of a curly-haired boy who played with our infant daughter in daycare, the mom behind me belongs to my mother’s group that I joined when our daughter was crawling, and off to the side sat two caring women who each transported our elementary aged girl to CCD in the afternoons because I worked full time. I flipped through a mental shoe box filled with snapshots of our daughter interacting with the offspring of these women over the years, pausing at a particularly adorable memory of her wearing black mouse ears on Halloween. Like every other parent in the room I’m sure, I wondered how we could have arrived at this place so quickly.

Seated in ladder-backed chairs surrounded by floor to ceiling bookshelves, we listened to the counselor juggle queries pertaining to SAT’s, strategic course selections and the early admission process, until one mom posed a question I never considered. Given the current economy she asked, would colleges give precedent to full paying students rather than those who may need financial assistance? Digesting her question, let’s just say my stomach flip flopped.

Before February anyway, my husband and I were on track to take care of our daughter’s tuition with no worries. That comfort came as a result of both of us working full time for her entire childhood and forgoing new cars and family vacations. We also forfeited a dream of an expanded family room as well as the plan for a master bedroom suite with walk in closets penciled on a piece of graph paper that sits folded in my husband’s cupboard.

The thing about this though, is that other than missing her like crazy when I worked, the rest doesn’t matter. We have what we need in life, which is to say, the three of us--together and healthy, a modest but quite acceptable roof over our heads, and plenty of food to eat. Pre layoff, we figured when the time came, we’d fill out financial aid requests as required by schools, and as a result of our frugality we’d be denied any assistance and fork over the dough. Her education, after all, is what the hard work was for. So after February, while it occurred to me that my reduced salary state might qualify her for some financial assistance, never once did I think it could impact her acceptance to college. A friend said to me a while ago that if your income is going to be reduced you want it to happen just before your child goes to college so you’ll qualify for aid. So the timing of my unemployment should be pretty good, right?

Before utter panic set in, an experienced mother in the room clarified that for the most part, decisions to accept students to schools are kept separate from family financial factors, but the parents in the room rumbled and muttered about national economics and the consensus of all that noise seemed to be “For now.” The guidance counselor then stated that in the case of a wait-list acceptance in May, it is possible there could be no financial aid left. Woe to those who don’t get in on the first try.

My husband and I are novices as it pertains to the college application process so I don’t know where this is leading except to a generous mouthful of hindsight on my part—one that comes with a dose of hiccups. Percolating inside me is the taste that had we known we were going to be in this circumstance anyway, perhaps we would have taken a few more family trips.

Second guessing is a bore though and knowing my husband and me, the comments in the meeting today are not about to trigger any grand purse opening. We will continue in our parsimonious ways knowing that we’ll cope with my surprise unemployment better then if our family room possessed more square footage, and we’ll get our girl through college by what ever means necessary.

But here’s something I did figure out after that meeting today. To coin a phrase darn it; life is short. So at the very least, by the end of the week I’m taking myself out to lunch.

Clean Slate?

I knew I was in trouble when the thought of folding two baskets of clean laundry was appealing.

This morning I woke up still upbeat from yesterday. After driving my daughter to school, I sat at the computer (Are you sick of this phrase yet?) to work on my resume. Today it was the chronological version, verses the functional one that gave me so much trouble over the past few weeks (which finally made the cut with the outplacement counselor I am happy to say). All that effort paid off though, because after shaking up the functional document and executing a little cutting and pasting, by about 8:30 a.m. the new format was complete.

That was OK because there is another assignment due this week—a document that identifies my areas of expertise, though not in a resume format. When networking, I’m told, sometimes a formal resume is a bit too—well, formal. This piece is developed to create dialogue, not necessarily job offers. It may serve to open doors to people who will open doors to people who may get me to the job offer place. So, when the resume was done, I started on that. This document too was a cut and paste from the functional resume, so my first pass was complete by 9:15, at which time I contemplated this blog, came up dry and started pacing.

Thankfully, a friend called looking for a walk. We let her dog set the pace through the sandy streets of seaside neighborhoods, after which I perused job boards until my daughter got out of school on an early release day. Due to some dynamic issues with girlfriends (and trust me, I’d rather be 50 and smarting from the band aid rip of unemployment than a teenager again), I took her out to lunch. After a salty, smoky pastrami sandwich, we left via a circuitous route, pausing at the beach to admire the calm, flat sea and arrived home—at which point I was at a loss.

Those who know me are aware that other than cooking, household chores are not my forte. And, while I’ve perfected a phenomenal new shortbread recipe in the last few weeks, one more batch of cookies and my family is going evict me. We have a small celebration scheduled for Friday, and I toyed with the idea of preparing the dining room, but the cat considers any tablecloth fair game. The gardens are too wet to work; I don’t want to spend money, therefore stores are off limits. The ever present book tempted, but turning my back on it, I made my way down to the basement resolved to throw some dirty sheets into the washer, and was delighted to find two baskets of laundry to fold. That scared me.

I redeemed myself by coming up with the subject matter for today’s blog.

During the first month of unemployment there is a vast amount of paperwork relating to the change. The initial few weeks are filled with phone calls to make, letters to write, people to tell, financial counselors to speak to. There is life insurance to change and unemployment to sign up for, budgets to develop and schedules to adjust. Friends and family call regularly to make sure that you are hanging on. Five weeks into it though, guess what? All that stuff is done and you are still, um, unemployed.

Having worked full time since I was out of college, with the exception of the few months after our daughter arrived, today I realize that without the pressure of “never enough time,” I don’t know how to fill hours not allotted to a paycheck. In my previous life, weekends were typically crammed with our daughter’s activities, sandwiched between house and yard work, preparing for the week ahead, or sometimes spending a few idyllic hours relaxing. I have never been much of a group joiner but it never bothered me because there wasn’t time. Suddenly there are long unassigned periods to fill and I’m not sure how to accomplish that. It’s pretty clear to me today how depression could sneak in. In order to avoid that my goal now is to investigate and to identify activities that make my time valuable again. Any suggestions will be gratefully considered.

At the moment you can be proud of me though, because all of the laundry is done. Oh, and I guess so is today’s blog.

TGIF

Whew. The third incarnation of my functional resume is now winging its way through cyberspace to the outplacement consultant for review. Though it surely will be returned to me with a request for copious edits, at least it is finally taking some shape. It’s humbling to recognize what a struggle it is not only to quantify my achievements but to put them down on paper with a semblance of clarity. While I can’t promise that every hour of every day has been dedicated to this feat it has been a focus for the last several, and though determined, the effort to wrench the information from my mind has been taxing. It is as if my accomplishments hang like spaghetti strands from the uncovered landscape of my cauliflower brain, and the only way I’m allowed to pull them off is with a pair of slippery tweezers. And I like to write. For those of you who don’t and are in this situation, you have my utmost sympathy.

This pseudo-accomplishment though, has put me into a “Thank God it is Friday” mentality—which is fascinating, since lately, everyday is Friday for me. Now though, I feel it--that it is only a matter of hours before I’m unshackled from the self-imposed handcuffs of my new routine. It has been a week of minor success in ways both related and unrelated to the employment situation; so for the next two days, in some regard I get to rest. “Some regard” because most of the snow has finally melted. There is sand to sweep from the driveway, branches and sticks to pick up from all over the yard and a probable bonfire to light. Tiny snowdrops with their optimistic white blossoms are emerging from the ledge garden, and out front the crocuses are about to bloom. It’s time to survey the damage to the rhododendrons, to prune the rose bushes and rake up the leftover leaves.

We are not out of the woods yet. It is March and New England and there is plenty of chance for winter to push its arms back into the sleeves of its long flowing coat. But for the moment, the snow is gone. Daylight Savings is here along with budding warmth and mud-earth smells. Every spring creeps ahead with a promise of joy and renewal. I’ll try to keep inching myself forward too.

Focus

It’s all resume today. I’ve been allowing this blog to distract me, and today that’s not permitted. Oh my. I wish I had thought to bring my daily calendars with me when I departed work so unexpectedly. It’s all about the specifics and that’s where the real action is recorded. It’s been five weeks, and my accomplishments over the years are already drifting toward a black hole of oblivion. When I caught myself investigating on-line MFA programs this morning, I exited to the library--where it’s a bit less tempting to access the local wide area network. Wish me luck.

One Twenty over Eighty—I Hope

In the end, it was one envelope that defeated me. It took over 35 minutes to coax one from my home printer today. Well, actually two, because the one that printed thirty seconds into this exercise was upside down. That was the only one that came out clean. When all was said and done, I had to use labels, because the envelopes refused to cooperate. It’s a good thing no one is checking my blood pressure right now.

In the last month, these are some of the things over which I have not lost my temper:

1) Staring at a computer print-out verifying the receipt of my weekly unemployment claim, while listening to a customer service representative on the phone tell me the claim wasn’t received.
2) Getting no answer when asking whether I should expect a disruption in insurance service, before COBRA kicked in.
3) Confirming a disruption in service when trying to fill a routine prescription.
4) Finding out that while I could transition some of my company life insurance without going through the headache pertaining to “evidence of insurability,” the cost would be more than three times that of a new policy.
5) Having to demonstrate evidence of insurability to get a new policy. This involves approximately an hour on the phone rehashing every minor medical detail that occurred over the past 10 years and feeling guilty when one series of questions uncovers something I inadvertently left out.
6) Waiting for an insurance nurse/representative to come to do a quick physical work up on me (re: #5 above) when I had a regular exam just prior to the layoff, including blood work demonstrating that I am extraordinarily healthy. (That day, the blood pressure was nice and low.)

Nonetheless, it was the envelope that wouldn’t print that caused me to percolate today, setting off a minor volcano blow. It’s all good now though, because I figured out what is happening. It’s a little punishment. The envelope is not for a resume and it probably should be. Instead, it’s for an essay I wrote a few years ago, that I have edited, polished and decided to submit one more time to see if it could possibly be published.

Like everything in the last month though, it’s all in how you look at things. Perhaps this envelope situation shouldn’t be considered an aggravation. Maybe it’s a reminder to slow down and proofread the essay another thousand times before sending it out. Ok. I get it. And, while I’m waiting to regain my composure, I’ll edit the resume, for what also feels like the thousandth time and which was what I was supposed to be doing this morning anyway. But hey. The insurance nurse is coming soon. Before my blood pressure spikes again, does anyone know where to get some envelopes printed?

PS. It’s about five hours later, and point of fact, I did find a typo.

Everybody Bounces Back

The word “character” has been flitting around in my head the past few days. Let me start by stating that there is no platitude that will wipe away the scalding disappointment of a #1 ranked high school girls’ basketball team that loses the South Sectional Finals to a basket at the buzzer. The trite clichés like “you win some you lose some” or “guess this wasn’t their year” had to have come into being as a result of similar losses; as coaches and fans and parents groped for words designed to put positive spins on similar defeats. Witnessing our (fan) daughter’s distress, and the tears pouring down our (player) niece’s face, I grasped for any words more meaningful than those above, to help mitigate the agony of the moment. And while perhaps also a cliché, the concept that stuck with me and that I held on to while leaving the crowded gym, is that losses like these are character forming.

But what is character, after all? At our house, over the years, we added chair rails and molding and wooden valances to our aging ranch, all under the guise of adding “character.” A world traveler observing different cultures may perhaps be considered as on a mission to develop character. Volunteering for the homeless, or the sick, or the disadvantaged all enhance character. And a player, who holds her head erect, accepts disappointment gracefully, determined to move on with positive words and gestures, is clearly demonstrating character. Character is the sum of all the learned parts, the knowledge acquired through life’s depth and scope and pain and anguish. Character is when you look back ten years later and think, “Yea, it would have been great if we won that game, but I still made it here anyway.”

While I had all this in my head as we drove home from the game Friday night, I couldn’t say anything about it out loud. Because the thing about character is that you can only recognize it after you step back, when the distance of time and insight allow you to acknowledge it. What I remembered all too clearly Friday night, was my own, similar “character building” episode.

During my senior year in high school I had the potential to be ranked at a state level in springboard diving. To that end, I practiced endlessly, received extra coaching, and was hitting my peak just at the time the championships occurred. Having placed fairly well the year before, with demonstrated improvement in my diving there was a solid chance to exceed last year’s results. I daydreamed about success, visualized how the achievement would look on my college applications, of receiving write-ups in the town newspaper and the high school yearbook. For the entire fall sport season, chlorine emanated from my pores and every league competition brought us that much closer to the first championship meet, where I anticipated performing my best.

Except of course, I didn’t. Who knows whether it was nerves or lack of attention, or a focus on the wrong thing at the wrong moment, but after nailing my first dive of the competition I made such a serious mistake on the second that the judges were required to score it a zero. Perhaps I demonstrated a bit of character by getting up and scoring well on my third dive, even though I was already out of the competition, but to me at that moment, it meant nothing. Climbing out of the pool, I buried my face in my damp towel hoping that no one would notice the tears spilling from my eyes. It took months for me to reconcile myself to ending my high school diving career with that knife twisting letdown.

That’s why I knew that there was nothing we could say to our niece, or to our daughter that would alleviate the disappointment. They would both look at me like some middle-aged nutcase, if I told them that by some means that currently they can’t know, this loss is a gift. Of course they will never look back and say: Gee, I’m glad we didn’t win that game.” Nevertheless this setback will form at their core and will make them stronger, empathetic and more equipped to cope with future distresses in life.

Thankfully, the bonus that comes with years and experience is the ability to absorb these concepts more seamlessly. A loss may also be a win. That’s why, while plenty nervous, I already recognize positive aspects related to losing my job last month.

A Cupcake on the Side

Sometimes you need a change of scenery. The snow this week seems to have affected everyone and I’m not exempt. Even though I challenge myself not to allow the frigid temperatures to stop me, the boot shod feet are dragging. My job, pertaining to finding a job, is to develop “BAR” statements (Background, Activities, and Results) so that I can build a functional resume (the “curriculum vitae” of choice for we career changers).

This morning though, while sitting in my cold house at the computer cubby, inspiration iced up too. So I went out to breakfast (or perhaps on a reconnaissance mission) to my dream coffee/sandwich shop that may or may not be for sale (a story for a different day).

When I arrived, there were only three patrons, regulars, dishing about current events with the owners. Even with my Boston Globe propped by my plate, it was impossible not to listen to their comments. (Did I mention that the dream may be over-the-top, but the place itself is tiny?)

While I polished off my second breakfast of the day (the first was oatmeal with raisins at 7:00), their conversation went something like this:

Owner 1: "What are you all up to today?"
Patron 1 (with a wink): "We are all looking for jobs. We hear there is a stimulus package that is going to provide them to us."
Owner 2: "I hear that most people only have enough cash reserves to cover one month of unemployment."
Patron 2: "I think I should open a diner."

In my head, utilizing spellbinding and witty repartee of course, I tossed in the following responses to their dialogue:

“Actually, I really am seeking a new career (I'd insert my personal marketing statement here). Would you have a few minutes to speak to me?”

“Even if you have cash reserves, unemployment is unnerving. Would you consider offering me a job cooking in your kitchen?”

“If you do open that diner, I’m a hard worker, a darn good cook and I make a mean London Broil. Would you consider offering me a job cooking in your kitchen?”

Putting my pipe dreams aside, I contemplated interjecting myself into their conversation for real—let’s face it; I could provide some pretty relevant, timely and personal commentary. This clearly presented an opportunity to make connections. Talk about never knowing where your next networking contact may arise—two eggs over easy with an employment discussion on the side—sounds delicious.

Well, my breakfast was flavorful and God knows I’ve spent a huge portion of my life speaking to strangers for a living. But as I mopped up the crumbs on my plate, the skills I took for granted for the last twenty years disappeared as fast as my breakfast. The thought of selling myself verses being sold to was the unsavory entree at my table. After dawdling over my second cup of coffee and depositing a large tip, I moved on.

I’m at the library now. The warmth of the Sherwood green walls and the sun streaming through the palladium windows have been conducive to several BAR statements as well as this blog entry; and the clock just struck lunchtime. At my little dream restaurant, they are selling homemade chocolate, raspberry filled cupcakes, frosted with butter cream. Just my luck--on top of everything else, unemployment is going to be fattening.

Getting Back in Gear

While waiting in line for coffee with my recruiter friend yesterday, a voice behind me called out: “Look who’s here.” I turned to find an associate from my former employer, who worked under the same leadership “umbrella.” Upon registering her face, my immediate reaction was to give her a big hug. Seeing her was a surprise, and even better, a pleasure. We exchanged a few comments, and off she went to a work meeting after which I sat down with my friend, silently cataloging that in our brief chat, I had accomplished something huge. It was the first time that I have bumped into someone from work wherein there was no sadness, little regret, and most of all, no big lump in my throat. The dominant emotion was simply pleasure at seeing someone I know and like.

The story, however, gets better. Yesterday morning, we were all still cleaning out from the snow storm the day before. Our Jeep, thirteen years old by choice, is a manual four wheel drive vehicle, and had been left in that gear while in the garage. As I had backed out of our ice crusted driveway and down the street earlier that day, a metal on metal grinding emanated from the car. I pulled over, looked at the 4WD crank and realized that the car was in “off road driving mode” and not “snowy conditions on the road mode.” Everyone knows that you are not supposed to drive your car in 4WD-L on paved roads, don’t they? The problem was that since we’ve never been off-roading in our car; I hadn’t a clue how to get it into the correct gear, and for crying out loud, it was 6:20 a.m. and we were on our way to my daughter’s physical therapy appointment. If we were late to that she’d be late to school. On testing the forward motion, the groaning stopped, so we made our way the half mile to the appointment, at a sustained speed of about 25 MPH in a 40 MPH zone.

After her exercises, we limped to school and then I continued home. There, I searched for my recruiter friend’s cell phone to reschedule our appointment but of course, didn’t have it. Aside from the fact that I respect and admire her and sought her advice, I also didn’t fancy leaving her hanging in a coffee shop with no word from me. So, a half hour before our meeting, I got back in the car, convinced that while driving it I’d figure out how to get it into the proper gear. No luck. Apologizing out loud to the cars stacked up behind me for the entire trip, I crawled the five miles to where we were meeting, certain that after coffee, a visit from AAA would be on the schedule. When I walked into the restaurant, my heart was pounding, my hands were shaking, and caffeine wasn’t necessary for my morning adrenalin rush. That’s when my erstwhile peer saw me.

Fast forward to later that afternoon. Car issue resolved to some degree (read the manual dummy and give thanks to coaching from experienced friend) I received an email from the coordinator in my old department. Word had traveled about my chance meeting in the coffee shop that morning and the feedback was that I apparently looked “wonderful and relaxed.”

It’s all a matter of perspective I suppose. But my chuckle upon reading that email may be well worth the repair costs anticipated on the Jeep.

In No Particular Order

The recession is everywhere in a “flavor of the month” manner that could force you down a rabbit hole to hide if you are not careful. Aside from reporting the “facts, M’am, and nothing but the facts,” there are newspaper and on-line features each day on all aspects of the economic crisis. Some are helpful, others exploitive, and then there are those that are purely opportunistic. To keep myself sane, I stick to the provocative items.

Among the more fascinating articles I’ve read recently, is a Boston Globe Magazine piece from yesterday called The Executioner’s Song by Kris Frieswick. According to Kris, it’s not only we affected employees that you need to worry about. Management associates who are required to communicate layoffs suffer also. “For some, living with the knowledge that they’ve disrupted and financially imperiled so many lives can result in long-lasting emotional damage. They may never find a way to move on, even after they’ve left their job or have been laid off themselves.” Ok, I’ll bite. Having lived through it on the other side, I agree that there is a packet of “survivor guilt” left behind when you have to lay someone off. And, I surely witnessed the distress of my former boss and the tears of my then current boss, who had the dubious honor of imparting the bad news to me together last month. Seven months earlier though, I had to give the same news to three of my own staff members. At that time, we were instructed by an outplacement firm that emotion was an indulgence in which we, the “executioners” were not eligible to partake. No matter how bad you feel sitting behind the desk after delivering the news, you remain sitting there. Your remorse comes with a paycheck, medical insurance, life insurance and continued contribution to your 401K. Sorry guys. I miss you all. But I hope you don’t mind if I keep my worry focused solidly on myself.

Then there is Ellen Goodman’s Op Ed piece from the Friday, February 20th Boston Globe. In her column titled Wall Street Bust a Hidden Blessing for Grads? she wonders if this recession may be an opportunity for Ivy Leaguers who, prior to this economic downturn were compelled by a “juggernaut” of recruiters, the promise of bright lights and big city, competition, prestige—[and…] money” to flock to Wall Street. She speculates whether, with the lack of employment opportunities in the financial sector, it may be “possible for students to follow their dreams and have ideals they pursue." Hmmm, I’m unemployed now. I know that for the younger set, she’s speaking more along the lines of altruism, but maybe I can pursue my dreams now too? The little sandwich shop that I have fantasized about running for the past 10 years is for sale. The reality for most people though is that whether they are selfless or not, dreams still require a paycheck, or at least enough collateral for a loan. Oops, silly me. Apparently banks aren’t too forthcoming with those these days.

Of course, in his February 24 speech, President Obama focused on the economy too. “You don’t need to hear another list of statistics to know that our economy is in crisis,” he said in his first minutes, “because you live it every day. It’s the worry you wake up with and the source of sleepless nights. It’s the job you thought you’d retire from but now have lost; the business you built your dreams upon that’s now hanging by a thread….”

I kid you not that early in the morning of the day I lost my job, I walked to the company cafeteria for a cup of coffee feeling dispirited about the work atmosphere, as I had for the previous several weeks. Contemplating the two years before my daughter goes to college and adding for inflation, I mentally calculated whether I could possibly retire from my role in seven more years. Who knew that in seven HOURS, I’d be jobless? In the words of our President: “The impact of this recession is real, and it is everywhere.” That’s the macro economic picture right from the President’s mouth. It’s just that I never expected to be a statistic, living his speech in such a micro economic kind of way.

The Other Side of the Desk

As a corporate hiring professional, sometimes I felt like a cog in a wheel with unlimited spokes facing a vast centipede of arms reaching out to snag me.

I date myself here, but back in the day, so to speak, when hiring was conducted via newspaper advertisements resulting in paper resumes and walk-in applications; we received piles of mail each day. We fielded phone calls from candidates who had applied for jobs as well as from third party recruitment firms hungering to “help” us to fill positions we had just advertised. Our internal hiring managers contacted us, seeking updates on their openings; and advertising agencies got into the game, requesting face to face meetings wherein they could pitch their services. In between all that, we read resumes to determine which were valid for our open positions, contacted candidates, screened for skills and if appropriate scheduled them to meet us in person. If they didn’t make the cut, we followed up with sensitive phone calls apprising them of that, deftly fielding the oft asked question, “Why?” Once we identified viable candidates, we set up additional interviews, and subsequent follow-up meetings, conducted references, extended offers, negotiated salaries and start dates. In a full on hiring mode, suffice to say, the days were busy. But compared to the employment environment today, that paper era was prehistoric.

In the Internet based talent acquisition world in which we now live, the volume is positioned at full blast with a knob that sits on maximum level, and receives constant tinkering to nudge the capacity higher. In the primitive days, a job search meant printing resumes and cover letters, licking a stamp and driving to the post office. This bit of required effort and expense ensured that candidates completed at least a minimum of self screening. In today’s world though, everything is on-line and free, which has eliminated that modicum of restraint. The time it takes to submit a resume is condensed to nano-seconds, so candidates feel no concern in applying for a job for which they have no qualification. Add search engines that use key word methodology to send “appropriate” job postings to the candidate’s desk top, “email this job to a friend” features, and web crawlers that farm out postings farther into the web netherworld, and the integers grow exponentially. Blend this ease of application with distressing unemployment levels and I would hazard to say that any corporation with openings has an overwhelming surplus of candidates. But we’re not done yet. Sales representatives from an ever growing industry of on line employment resources call and email repeatedly. Truly many of them offer valid tools with which to manage this insurmountable flow of information, but you could spend a year speaking to them all, and when you are done a whole crop of new ones will have sprung up. Honestly, it’s a wonder any one has time to conduct a simple interview these days. Corporate hiring specialists have mere seconds to spend reviewing each resume and if there is no critical phrase or experience that induces a more concentrated read, a mouse click transports them to the next one.

Knowing this, is it any wonder that today was the first day that I actually looked at an on-line hiring resource? And that when I did, I shuddered? I don’t have a resume yet or clear career goals, as those of you reading know. But after three weeks, given all the delightfully positive press related to our recession, I was curious to see what was “out there,” intrigued if anyone is actually seeking talented professionals.

Here is the good news. There are a lot of companies advertising. Now, I have zero interest in throwing my background out there for a 20 second review, but within ten minutes, I discovered a company I hadn’t heard of marketing a fascinating product that I never imagined existed. Searching the corporate website, I targeted, to some degree, the skills I need to develop in order to pursue employment somewhere similar. It’s one of the upsides of this on-line world we live in. Rather than tossing out a zillion resumes to job boards hoping that one will stick, you can peruse career sites, conducting methodical research designed to unwind the threads of a potential career. Hmmm—this is good stuff. It's the learning to sew that will be a challenge.

Separated Connections

A few days ago, a former coworker created a group on LinkedIn, consisting of alumni from our ex-employer. It’s a small lifeline and it won’t pull me to dry land, but it may help me to tread water until I re-learn to swim. The other day I told my husband that I feel like I am a teenager, expelled from the high school clique. Coworkers are in touch via email, but sensitive to my feelings they aren’t sharing much. Until I’m ready to dive off the deep end into a full on career search, the LinkedIn group makes it easier to cling to a slight sense of connection.

In my department, we worked conscientiously, with the goal of doing our jobs professionally. And, while paychecks were necessary and company paid benefits critical, the value of the friendships formed over the years was; well, to borrow a word from Master Card, priceless. It’s hard to grasp, but I spent an actual life time working for my former employer—developing business and personal maturity and witnessing others grow up too. I adopted my daughter while there, and watched others become parents. We celebrated our respective marriages, grieved our parents’ deaths, honored our families’ triumphs and vented about our struggles. For every life event we provided a material support system for each other and in my mind, there isn’t much better than that for fostering company loyalty. But then, in the time it would take to wreck a car, or crash a plane, it was over. With no notice and just minutes to say goodbye, I walked out the door for the last time. After two weeks the shock may be subsiding, but the habit is struggling to die.

When my husband was laid off from a long term employer several years ago, he knew it was coming when his company closed its doors. So, while he empathizes with my emotions, the building he left was dark. The business I worked at for such a long time still functions and those left from my team are doing their job each day. I catch myself wishing for a list of the names of the other hundred or so people in our building that lost their jobs when I lost mine. Who is still there? What is happening with my pregnant staff member and the newly engaged coordinator? How is the toilet training going for the mother of the toddler, and what kind of birthday party did the supervisor throw for her son? And, though I try not to, I speculate as to what was prepared for the meeting scheduled for yesterday and if the year end budget was closed without trouble. Did anyone take care of the items left dangling in my Franklin Planner?

There are fresh pages in my planner now, and different types of to-do’s on my list. I’m accomplishing what’s necessary to move forward, a centimeter at a time, but when you experience a lay off, there is much more than work left behind.

Discounted

While I have been uninvited to appear physically at work, I am, actually, on the payroll for a few more weeks. Therefore, I still have access to my employee discount card. At up to forty percent, you can imagine that little piece of cardboard is a bit of a golden handcuff, and undoubtedly, the majority of my wardrobe contains the same label. It’s a perk that’s about to end. I am grateful for the fact that in the face of losing my job, our immediate circumstances are better than many others. But, clearly, in this economic environment it’s not clever to spend on non-necessities while the real thundercloud of unemployment looms--and it's particulary discomfiting when it means supporting the business that unequivocally indicated they no longer need my services. But the unemployment piece is exactly why I went shopping yesterday, albeit to the outlet division of my still-but-soon-to-be-former retail employer (SBSTBF for short). While the only thing I wanted to do less than walk through those doors would be to say--fall through the ice on the frozen pond down the street--the clock is ticking on the discount card. In spite of my denial, which remains as thick as the holes in that pond where the ice fishermen hunkered this morning, it’s just possible that there could be interviews to deal with soon. So with an idea of investing in my future, I slid through the closing window of opportunity, and here lies the conundrum.

I’ve worked in a “casual dress” environment for the past few years, and the thought of pulling on a “structured woven” (AKA: a suit) for a job interview gives me the willies. Please sir, could I wear blue jeans? And while we are talking about it, do people even wear suits anymore? In my recent experiences on the other side of the interviewing desk, the male candidates wore fitted suits and impeccable broadcloth shirts that we never saw again once they were hired. It begs the question as to how many men fork out the dough necessary to purchase expensive clothing before a job interview, only to relegate it to the closet afterward. I know female job applicants spend the money and it’s usually for clothes from my SBSTBF because, angling for points, they always announced it to me.

Though employed by a woman’s apparel retailer, I had zero input into clothing style and even less knowledge. Even after 23 years of exposure, it is beyond me to “get” apparel trends. Consequently as I slid clothes from one side of the rack to the other during my shopping expedition, my eye twitched as I tried to figure out what to purchase. Casual? Business Casual? Professional? And that aside, what do I buy for future interviews if I don’t know what I am interviewing for? It was enough to make me want to run home, lock the doors, yank on my sweats and begin my new career as a hermit. Possibly though, my husband and daughter would take issue with that.

So here is where it ended up. I bought two cardigan sweaters and a pair of refined stripped pants suitable for a funeral--oh I’m sorry--I mean a job interview. Our cedar closet holds several cast-off blazers that will fit the bill if I need to go upscale. I procured a pair of cotton Capri pants that can be worn casually or dressed up with a fine gauge sweater in a work environment. And though I have no idea what my future holds, I’m going to an outplacement meeting this week. I’ll wear one of the outfits there, and figure the rest out as I go along.

As for the investment spending--well, the clothes I bought were significantly discounted—-the markdown was more than I receive with the discount card. Wouldn’t it just figure? I didn’t need it.

Baby Steps

House cleaning today--though I mean that figuratively. My husband and I pulled up our stools and laid out my “package” on the counter in the kitchen, where we analyzed our expenses and realized we aren’t going to starve. I knew we weren’t but the headache pulsing behind my eye since Wednesday evening lessened some once the numbers were tallied. Pride took a proverbial beating though. When your income figures significantly into the family budget, and it disappears, where does your value come from? I hope there will be a fine tuning of my priorities in the near future.

My Australian sister helped me initiate some of that adjustment last night as we burned some fourteen thousand miles of telephone wires between us. Since she is enjoying (operative word there) her first year of retirement, she had helpful advice for me for the near term, most of which was already bouncing around in my brain:

Develop a routine and stick with it
Get physical exercise
It’s OK to take time to relax and get your head cleared from that which has gone before
Listen to the BBC and stay up on current events
(Optional) Visit your sister in Australia while you have the time.

While I’m on my way to taking her guidance, on Monday the new routine will be disrupted a bit. I have the choice to attend an “open house” put on by my former (wince) company’s benefits department where those affected in this layoff can drop in and ask questions about coverage. I really don’t want to go. Since I was a part of the HR staff too, it will mean speaking with my erstwhile peers. Lord knows, I have always been a mush and over the past few days, it has been the calls and emails from these people, whom I genuinely like, that have caused the old Adams Apple to swell to grapefruit size. My husband suggests that I err, suck it up and go, and he’s probably right. The good news though, is this: Yes, I am emotional and yes I already miss the people. But it’s as clear as my sliding glass door that if I was offered the option of returning to work on Monday, I would lace my Nikes and run like the wind--the other way. Never say never—but right now that would be one giant leap backward.

Thankfully, I tiptoed a few steps forward yesterday during my first “day out,” enjoying a salmon burger with a friend from my mothers’ group at a restaurant I haven’t had time to go to in about 10 years. It makes no difference if you get behind a slow moving front end loader on a two lane highway on your way to lunch, because you are not on a schedule. And, there is something cleaner about the light outside on a week day at noon, when you are not sitting in a noisy company cafeteria, or as more recently, choking down food at an office desk. I was marveling at that when one of my former staff members, who was laid off seven months ago strolled by our table. She was lunching with a friend who also worked for the company and had been effected in a previous round of cuts. Hugs and big smiles! They both looked relaxed, healthy and best of all happy.

So far, so good--Yes Virginia, there is life after a lay-off.

I Can do This

Here it is-- my first morning as a member of the vast multitude of the unwashed and unemployed of 2009. OK, I exaggerate; I’m washed, but walking around in twice worn blue jeans. After 23 years with the same employer, close to half of my life, yesterday was the proverbial day of reckoning. No need to bore with the details. Suffice to say, this morning I find myself with a bit of time on my hands.

To no surprise, sleep didn’t come last night, but it wasn’t so much the shock of unemployment that had me tossing from side to side, pulling the blankets up and then kicking them off. The restlessness came from one merry-go-round question that circled endlessly through my brain. What will I do now?

As a Senior Recruitment Manager for a billion dollar retailer, there were parts of my job that I liked. Mentoring my staff, pulling at the hanging threads of complex problems and weaving together solutions, training people, interviewing eager candidates, the relationships developed over years of interaction. But to be honest the true value of my job over the last several years was that it enabled me to enjoy the rest of my life. The salary was necessary, and helpful. I worked six miles from home, could get to my now teenage daughter in less than 15 minutes and they let me. For the most part, other than the last six months or so, I left the work behind on nights and weekends. Deep inside, I knew that there was more in life I could do and there was more I could be, but the ease of the routine of my career enabled me to keep that thought on the back burner. Today though, the pot is slowly heating.

So with some sense of relief, here is where I start my reconstruction, and I have a niggling of a place to begin. For the last year, I have been an avid reader and commenter on a blog of a New York based writer with whom I am acquainted. We have known each other for several years and she has persuaded me in no small way to exploit the contents of that pan resting on the stove. As an English major with a wealth of journalism courses under my belt, I worked that interest into my job, writing memos, training documents, and advertising collateral for the field--but it wasn’t until my acquaintance with the NYC writer developed, and she pointed out that that my writing is a passion, that I began to pursue it more formally. My work friends humored my interest, passing memos by me and joking at my level of editorial detail. However, few of them know of the whopping two essays I’ve had published in the last few years, and none of them know about the black notebook on my bedroom floor filled with final drafts and copious rejection letters.

Truth be told, our family needs a lot more income than my erstwhile writing career will ever earn. So I will go to the outplacement meetings scheduled for me, I’ll rewrite my resume. I’ll do my best in this appalling economy to find a job that supplies an income that will help support a child going to college in two years. But while I am doing that, I will also do this. I’ll document my experiences as a middle aged and unexpectedly unemployed woman. Writing about my reinvention and job search will give purpose to my days, and perhaps direction in my career. Better yet, maybe I’ll be of some help to someone in similar circumstances. God knows I’m not alone, and among other things; this blog is a way to reach out to those who are in this pickle with me.

Last night, as I shifted from side to side under the down comforter, hugging the teddy bear my daughter had sympathetically placed beside me while agonizing over insurance and 401K’s, I had a moment of peace. I pictured the blog that I read each day, and reflected on my joy in crafting my responses. When I recognized how absorbed I have become in analyzing each word, scrutinizing every sentence, pouring over key phrases to find just the right flow before clicking send, I realized, I can do this. I have something to say too.