The meeting invite was accepted the day before. It appeared to be just another status meeting between the director and the project managers. As I arrived to the office that Thursday morning, it quickly became apparent this would not be just another day at the office. The air was thick with tension and I frowned at my friend and teammate who gestured to her cell phone: code for check your messages.
“Why cancel the meeting and then schedule one with me privately this afternoon unless I’m getting let go?”
I checked my emails and calendar. The meeting had not been cancelled for me.
“It’s not you,” I typed the assurance. “It’s me.”
This wasn’t my first lay-off. I knew the trademark covert moves and deceptions of a corporate lay-off. I knew the averted eyes and nervous try-to-act-normal moves. My time was up. She would be taking on my projects.
As I sat in the office with the Executive Director and a VP from corporate headquarters, I didn’t really hear the spiel. My boss was fidgeting and afraid, uncomfortable with this assignment and clearly quoting a script rather than speaking from the heart. The VP was decisive and arrogant, ready to battle any argument or negative emotions with the weapons of corporate cliche. I was just going through the motions.
I’d spent three years in a position supporting the company’s largest account, creating regular cash flow through operating projects and huge revenue from large capital projects with very little support from the organization. I’d had to think outside of the box, create alliances, tap unknown resources and generally problem solve in the most creative way possible just to get the job done. There was never a thank you or a hand offered to help, there was never any training or supports offered that would actually benefit this account. All attention was based on their future direction without any concern for maintaining the account that would support building this new ideology. It was always a battle. I had been miserable for quite some time.
“Good luck with your future,” I told them. Of course I didn’t have any questions. I knew the deal. And why argue? They’d made their decision. Why fight it? Nothing would change their minds and they were following the letter of the law. Why even question their logic and decision? Anyone can be replaced and very likely will be at some point in life. You can be the hardest working, most dedicated employee, but when it comes to financial decisions, corporate loyalties side with the numbers over individuals.
April 14, 2011.
I handed in my equipment, packed my things and left the office that day with a mixture of relief and fear, knowing with a disturbing certainty this was going to be a difficult time, but feeling there was an inevitability to it all. The economy was terrible and finding a job would not be easy; middle managers & directors were lined up at unemployment offices everywhere. I understood on a personal level the mental and emotional challenges of being unemployed. I had first hand experience with the prejudice and discrimination I would face. Being trapped in the laid-off vortex that was the aftermath of 9/11 had opened my eyes to some harsh realities. As I drove away, I sensed my course had just been altered far beyond the obvious job change.
That same afternoon we discovered my Mother had obtained the MRSA infection from a standard knee replacement surgery. I would spend the next thirteen months as her caregiver, watching an infection slowly destroy her body, but never her spirit.
Being stripped of security and shoved into the abyss of uncertainty is more than frightening. It’s life altering. Being placed on an epic path of insidious disease and loss is terrifying. It’s life transforming.
I will never regret those final thirteen months I spent with my Mother. She was my best friend. She was my hero. But it was more than just time: time to love, time to learn…time to say goodbye. It was an epic journey of courage and faith, proof of the enduring strength of the human spirit and the undeniable truth of unfailing love.
Almost two years after my mother’s death, I have still not returned to the career that once had a part in defining me. Do I miss the money? Yes. Do I miss the security of a regular paycheck? A resounding yes. Do I have regrets? Of course, but none of them involve working harder or smarter in the climb to the top of the corporate ladder. I don’t miss that at all.
I have downsized my life. I have taken on a roommate; I live in a smaller space, buy less stuff, eat less fancy, and enjoy fewer perks/amenities. I work with a non-profit that serves patients and caregivers, and take on odd jobs to supplement that income. But I have time. Time to paint, and draw, and write. Time to talk with the brokenhearted over coffee, or take a spontaneous road trip to help a friend. I have time to volunteer, time to help the needy. I have time to nurture patience and perform acts of kindness. I have time to love.
The day I lost my job – and the sense of security we all seek and desire – was the day I found time. With time, I find a better life. With time, I find purpose. With time, I find the real me.
Has anything bad ever happened to you that turned out to be for the best?
by G. Anne Bassett 