Nearly three years ago, I was fired from my job; a casualty of the post-9/11 economic downturn. After 18 months of looking for work without success, I sat down to write a book, entitled, "Blown Job: an unemployment odyssey." Here's an excerpt from the final chapter, Chapter Eleven. (See "Past Posts of Note" for earlier chapters )
Chapter 11 - Stage Fright
The loss of a job is a trauma. Don’t kid yourself that it’s not. You go through stages, just as you would if you’d lost a loved one or if you were recovering from an addiction. What’s different about job loss is that no one commiserates with you, as if you were in mourning, and few encourage you, as if you were climbing the 12 steps to back to sobriety. And believe me, if you’ve lost a job and a loved one at the same time, prepare to be miserable for some time to come.
Stage 1 of job loss is shock. You simply cannot believe that this is happening to you. What’s worse is, you cannot believe it’s happening to you and not to that shmuck down the hall, the one who worked half as hard as you for twice the salary.
Shock is followed quickly by Stage 2, denial. This stage doesn’t last too long, because, even though you decide to keep showing up for work, your cubicle quickly gets reassigned, your password gets deleted, and Security posts your picture at the front desk next to that of Osama bin Laden. You’re persona non grata, my friend.
Stage 3: you grieve. You mourn your loss of stature, such as it was. No longer do you have a title. No one calls you or sends an e-mail to ask for your advice. You can’t travel in Business Class any more. You can chuck out your briefcase.
After grief, comes Stage 4, fear. How will I pay my bills? What if I get sick? What if the kids get sick? Will my spouse leave me, or worse, taunt me and toss around the word “loser?” What you don’t have to worry about is keeping up with the Joneses, because Mr. Jones is probably going through his own stages of unemployment trauma at this very moment.
After all the negativity is dealt with (and this can take anywhere from eight hours to forever,) you try to look on the bright side, Stage 5. You assess your strengths and weaknesses, and do all the things I’ve touched upon to make yourself a prime candidate for that new job.
You examine your financial picture and put yourself on a budget. You get out there and make those networking contacts and you send out a blizzard of résumés. You do everything you can to make yourself marketable. You make looking for work your whole new career. Landing an interview puts a smile back on your face.
As time goes by, and nothing seems to pan out and you’re tired of being interviewed by kids young enough to be yours, you fall into Stage 6, a deep depression. This manifests itself in overeating, underdressing, fighting with anyone unlucky enough to be around you, and in general, acting like a horse’s ass.
Stage 7: you start to think about alternatives. What can you do to earn some money that doesn’t involve a 9-to-5 job? You think about starting at at-home business. You consider volunteer work, in the hope that it leads to a paying position. You write away for college catalogs, wondering if you should pursue another degree.
Ultimately, none of this really solves your problems, because each involves a major commitment of time and/or money, both of which would be better spent in pursuing your original goal of a new job.
Once again, you hit the want ads, but with a different attitude, which is Stage 8. Now, you’re more focused. You pick two or three job titles, or two or three companies, and you hone in on what’s necessary to attract employers. You don’t waste any time on things that won’t provide payback. You keep trying, because there is nothing else to do.
You learn how to deal with the people around you; those who still have jobs. It’s impossible to explain to them why you still aren’t working after all this time. They just don’t get it. You just can’t worry about what they think, which is probably, “What’s wrong with this woman?” “Is she a lazy slug, or just an incompetent jerk?” And these are your friends and loved ones, mind you. Don’t try to explain that it’s the economy and that there are nine million people out of work and there aren’t too many new jobs being created and by God, you’ve been trying. Just live for the day that you can call each of them up and say, “Guess what, I found a job.”
You learn how to stretch a dollar and do without. You take advantage of any money that you can obtain legally, from rebates to scholarships to government programs.
You learn to respect yourself, even if no one else does. You tell yourself how far you’ve come in the world and how far you still can go. You remind yourself that what’s happened to you is not your fault and that you are still a good person and a credit to your community. You consider writing a book about your job search.
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If you play it right, you can make the experience of looking for work a positive one. It can make you a better person – more focused, more financially astute, more empathetic. Of course, I’m pulling all of this stuff out of my ass, because I am sitting here, 18 months after being let go, without a job and without any prospects. Of the roughly two-dozen people I know who have lost jobs in this time frame, three of them have found new ones. One, who initially was promised salary plus commission, has been cut back to commission only. Another is working at a job with a salary significantly reduced from her last position. The third is supporting herself and her husband, who also lost his job.
So, yes, the future does not appear to be full of bright possibilities. But I live in New York, a city that has taken a beating time and again and keeps coming back for more. I see people coming to New York from all over the world, even now, because they believe they can make their livelihoods here. If they can do it, then so can I.
I cannot let the bastards who let me go be the winners. That is the thought that inspires me to keep looking.
Wish me luck.
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P.S. I just found the perfect ending to my story. After 18 months, my last employer has decided that the work I did is necessary and is now advertising for someone to fill my old job. Think I should apply?
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