On Death, Dying, and Getting Laid Off
Remembering what "thankful" looked like in November 2008
--
Working absorbs a good bit of you. Getting there, for me,
was thirty minutes. Getting home another
thirty. Plus the eight, more or less, I spent there. Twenty-four minus nine for
work, minus eight for sleep, leaves seven hours of “me” time. Even minus a couple of minutes of
thought that I would give my job every Sunday night, preparing for the week
ahead. But even knowing that work is my
biggest “time eater”, I am still surprised by the attachment I had to showing
up from nine to six.
I figured out the depth of my feelings the day I
was laid off. I had dragged myself to the office—Mondays are never easy.
I’d paid particular care to my personal appearance and worn high heels. I was hoping to impress the candidate who was scheduled to interview for my job. If she
was hired, I was promoted. Sweet deal for me.
Instead the corporate office closed us that morning. Despite
the emails in my inbox pertaining to next month’s issue, the magazine would
close. Corporate tried to make it into a civilized affair: explaining to the
eighty of us in the conference room who would soon be out of work how this was
“a business decision,” how it “broke their hearts but the industry wasn’t what
it was ten years ago”. But as the dust
settled, business for them became deeply personal for me.
The good news? This wont happen again. The layoff? Sure, I
could be laid off many more times during my career. But the vulnerability? The
sadness? The personal affront and my naïveté? No, I won’t be affected the same way again. I can’t be: I'm older, wiser, and perhaps a little jaded. And despite losing that part of
my identity when I walked out of my office for the last time five days after
we’d been given the news of the closing, I found that I was still the same person. Yes, I’m still here, but thanks to that experience, I'm tough, bruised, battered and more mature -- a silver lining and a blessing, a gift from those nasty
blue suits.
Then there is the dandelion effect -- one of those
surprising byproducts that you ultimately become quite grateful for. I worked
with the most amazing, kind, talented, sophisticated people. Some of us were just starting
out while others were seasoned veterans, and we all learned from one another. The best part of being unceremoniously tossed
out is to watch everyone scatter to different jobs in the industry. Soon, I might know someone everywhere. And
fortunately I ended up getting another job pretty quickly. Part of me was relieved to have the paycheck
keep coming every two weeks, to have insurance. But another part of me
wistfully thought of all of the late night and daytime television I could have
caught up on and all those neighborhoods and out of the way places I’d always
wanted to explore.
But life is a put-one-foot-in-front-of-the-other-and-move
situation. This is my new adventure, and exploring unknown territories like
Brooklyn and Queens maybe be down the road. Throughout the obstacle course, we grow
tougher, stronger, hopefully wiser, and definitely more appreciative of the
good. I know I am. I am thankful for the
wonderful people I worked with. I am thankful to have the opportunity to start
again. Lots of people don’t get that. I think of my parents’ friend who dropped
dead of a heart attack on his treadmill in May or my friend who is dying of a
brain wasting disease as her parents pray that she lives through the holidays,
and I realize that either of the two would love to get laid off. Would love to
be battered and bruised but wiser. And appreciation mounts for this crazy,
confusing, and upsetting thing called life as well as a person’s
miraculously beautiful ability to adapt. We grow and learn until we die. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that my time
comes later rather than earlier. After all, I’m still figuring things out.
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