How are you doing?
I only hear that question three, maybe four times a day now.
It's been just over a week since I was told I was being job eliminated – that I was out, done, kaput. So the temptation to say, "How the [bleep] do you think I'm feeling?!" has subsided a bit, along with the pang that lodged itself in the depths of my gut the very moment last week when my boss walked into the room with the head of HR.
This cannot be good, I thought to myself. It wasn't.
Upon realizing what was happening, much of what was said became a blur, whirring sounds. Economy. Revenue down. Consolidation. Unfortunately. And on it went.
I heard words but their meaning was obscured by noises inside my head. Bills. Kids. Mortgage. Life. And on it went.
It'll be a few weeks before we know how many thousands of Americans lost their jobs in February but when you are among them you feel the pangs–the hurt, the anger, the fear–of each and every one of them. When you're not, and you're still working, you ignore the monthly jobs report like you ignore the daily obit page: It wasn't me, thank God.
Now what?
The easy answer: I don't know.
But that's okay. I was laid off from another position in December 2005–so (sigh) I've got some experience at this thing. It's a loss, just like any other in your life. I always counsel people not to allow who they are to be confused with what they do. And yet if you love your craft and believe you're pretty good at it, you can't help but feel–if even for an instant–that something's been taken away from you.
So I grieved a bit, mourned.
But unless you own the company you don't own a job.
As my sense of loss and shock subsided, I began to construct a plan to best cope with the sudden uncertainty of my life.
First, I decided not to tell my wife by telephone. As many of you know, she suffered a massive stroke in October 2009. While she's recovered many of her physical and cognitive faculties, she's still unable to return to work. I simply thought I should tell her face-to-face.
Shock, is all I'll say about that. She was not working when I was laid off in '05 but she quickly returned to the marketplace and, fortunately, landed a position that put her on a new career tract. This time, at least right now, that is not an option,
"What are we going to do?" she asked several times that night. I didn't have an answer.
My daughter and I were heading to Washington, DC the following day for a weekend swim meet. And her birthday was that Sunday. So I decided to let the kids enjoy their weekend and not tell them until the following Monday when they were off from school for winter break.
"We've been through this before so we'll get through it again," I said as they stared at me with deer-in-the-headlights expressions. "But we have to keep an open mind. Last time we were able to stay here in this area. This time, no guarantees."
"Any questions," I asked.
There were none.
In between, I made a couple of lists. One included people whom I wanted to inform before it was public knowledge–family, close friends, a few people within the industry. The other list was my "cabinet," people to whom I turn for occasional counsel. This is the group that will help guide me to my "next." They'll offer insight and ideas, and push me towards people that I might not consider, introduce me to people whom I may not know.
Finally, I vowed not to allow this traumatic change to change me, or my routines.
Though I no longer have to scramble for an 8:31 a.m. train each morning, my alarm remains set for 5:15 a.m. and I head to the gym for my regular workouts.
I still return home in time to fix breakfast for the kids.
I still have my post-workout shake around 8 a.m., then a bowl of yogurt and fat-free granola a couple hours later.
I most often brought my lunch from home, so I still eat a homemade mid-day meal.
Another rule of mine: Worry only about that which you can control. I may have lost control of my career (temporarily!) but I have not lost control of my daily life.
Change does not have to change your life.
Now, when I need to answer the question, How are you doing? I have a response:
I'm okay. Really. Sure that pang in the pit of stomach still occasionally arises. Sure I do not yet have clarity on my "next."
But I know all things happen for a purpose, and through my faith I know that I am not in control of this journey–speed bumps, pot holes and all.
And yet there are realities. This month I will reach the "speed limit;" I'll be 55 years old–square in that zone where one person's "experience" is another's "expired." That's, truthfully, a bit frightening.
Yet I cannot control those who will base their perception on a number, so today I am deleting that fear.
To me, I've simply been there and done it. And will do it again.
I am confident in my skills and excited that the chapters of my career are moving towards one helluva a denouement.
Time to turn the page.