I sat down today and started to write about the day I was abruptly laid off from a company where I only worked for a couple of short months. I started to painstakingly articulate every moment of terror and disappointment and anxiety and loneliness and deep sadness that day caused me personally, professionally, and financially. But instead, I’ll just condense — it sucked.
It suuuuuuuuuucked. It felt unfair. It felt like I’d done everything I was supposed to do and was still punished. It felt like I’d finally gained momentum to sprint up a hill I’ve been meandering up for years, only to slip backwards as soon as I got a good view of what waited for me on the other side. It still feels that way.
I know that’s how this works sometimes. I’ve always known that from afar, and now I know it firsthand. I went to journalism school — of the friends and classmates I graduated with, far too many have endured a layoff or two or three. Cuts that were the result of low numbers or a bad economy or corporate mismanagement or any number of things ranging from an unsurprising side effect of capitalism to an egregious executive mistake, none of which was ever truly in their control.
But while I remain upset (and unemployed) I’m choosing — perhaps just for my own mental wherewithal — to let sadness take a backseat and marvel at the bright spots that have tried to keep it at bay.
My husband is the kind of husband who immediately came home in the middle of the afternoon to sit with me after I was let go, who brought flowers and baked cookies the next day, who secured a frankly embarrassing number of ice cream pints for me, who immediately got to work crunching numbers I was too afraid to even think about, and who came home a few days later with an incredibly detailed plan about how we would stay afloat financially for a few months. I’ve rarely felt more loved that in the moment I realized the scariest math of my life thus far had been done for me.
As news spread of my misfortune, my friends were also perfect. The very same night I lost my job, I was whisked away to a pizza dinner and then met up with another friend who bankrolled too many of my beers. My phone buzzed for days with sympathy and solidarity and names of companies I should look into and links to virtual gift cards for coffee. People I’ve hardly talked to in the past decade — many of whom have only ever been vague acquaintances — went out of their way to share potential opportunities.
Former coworkers also sent praise and apologies and encouragement and job listings and email addresses of connections who might have an opening for me. My parents fielded several frantic phone calls throughout the process and mercifully busied me with some administrative work for the family business so I can make a few bucks while I’m in limbo. Old freelance clients reached out with offers of new work.
People have been nice to me even when they didn’t have to be. I am immensely privileged to have some side work available and the funds to stay afloat for now, and hopefully until I find another full-time position. It’s a bad time, but it could be worse.
Since all of this went down, I’ve had a few interviews with companies I’d love to join, and I hope something comes of them. I’ve had time to think more concretely about the writing I’ve been doing and the writing I’d like to be doing. I’m trying to come out on the other side better equipped than I was going in. Maybe I will be and maybe I won’t be. Here’s hoping for the best.