On “Turning Over a New Leaf” and Other Decade’s-end Clichés

For roughly the last nine years I have been clinging to the comforting promises my favorite English professor offered me whilst shopping for alcohol at a local grocery store. The summer between my junior and senior year of college, in 2001, found me interning at a publishing company in Des Moines and spending my spare time with a friend whose romantic life was far more interesting than mine. As fate would have it, she found herself unceremoniously broken-up with one weekend, and since I was newly 21, I was in charge of picking up some beer with which she could drown her sorrows.

I wasn’t in the booze aisle for long when I looked up and noticed the professor who had taught my short-fiction writing class walking towards me. Although I’m usually paralyzed with fear at the thought of having to write fiction, I adored my short-fiction class almost as much as I adored this professor. After she asked for my beer-buying advice (and I am far from an expert), I explained I was there picking out something for my lovelorn friend. She groaned sympathetically and wished me and my friend good luck in handling romantic disasters to come. I can’t remember for sure how our conversation went from mundane to memorable, but it eventually resulted in her telling me that life would get easier in general by the time I got to my 30s. “I promise you, it gets better. Your 20s are so much harder.”

It’s a good thing she told me this then, because things got a lot harder after that summer. A few short months later 9/11 happened, George W. Bush settled into office and my own physical health threw a giant wrench in my plans for the future. Things started to rebound in 2006-2008 with the success of my stimulator surgery and the landing of my best job to date. However, 2008-2010 has been a rollercoaster that I’ve documented pretty thoroughly in this space.

One of the benefits of being born at the tail end of 1979 is that every time the world marks the end/beginning of a new decade, I get a nice, even number to start the decade with too. For example, I turned 10 right before 1990, and turned 20 in time for the beginning of 2000. This year is no different – I turned 30 shortly before the dawn of 2010. Somehow this makes all the looking back at the last ten years -- and forward to the next -- all the more cathartic. And it’s for this reason that I so welcomed the age 30. Turning 30 is giving me a chance to “start a new chapter of my life.” [That sounds a lot less cheesy when I say it in my head].

If you’d asked me a few years ago, I probably would’ve admitted some dread about reaching the big 3-0, citing hubris such as lack of professional or romantic success and financial instability. I had one friend who celebrated her 29^th birthday two years in a row, and another who celebrated her Sweet Sixteen instead of age 31.

But for some reason, the opposite happened to me. At least six months before my 30th birthday, I began overusing the “But I’m almost 30” excuse to rationalize far too many decisions and actions: “I’m almost 30 – that’s too old to still own a futon. It’s time for a real couch,” or, “I’m almost 30, for crying out loud, applying for entry-level jobs is beneath me.”

So far, all signs are pointing to good things to come in this new decade and for my 30s. Nearly every birthday, Christmas or New Year well-wish I received this year contained a variation on a theme: “2010 will be your year,” or “I’m sure your 30^th year will be much better than your 29^th.” One pair of thoughtful friends went so far as to give me 30 gifts and 30 cupcakes. I can’t think of a better way to put a sugary spin on some rough years.

One of my closest friends, who also turned 30 two days after me, sent me a new journal as a gift. There's an inspirational block of text on the cover and on the back of the notebook that I'm briefly excerpting here:

"She's turning her life into something sacred: Each breath a new birth. Each moment, a new chance...It is here where she must begin to tell her story."

Fitting, huh?

I have been far from alone in enduring the trials and tribulations of this decade, but even Time magazine’s morose “Decade From Hell” article offered some glimmers of hope, and all things considered, I have many, many things to be grateful for. And some day I’ll try to look back at the last ten years and count all of the lessons learned and why it was imperative that I remember them. But until then, I’m gonna stuff those memories back down for a while, and party like it’s 1999 all over again.

George Clooney Can Fire Me Whenever He Wants

I reached a point this summer where I let my self-consciousness get to me and stopped blogging out of fear that I was branding myself as “that unemployed girl.” A similar phenomenon occurred when I blogged my stimulator process a few years ago. After all, I reasoned, both then and now, self-pity doesn’t exactly make for good reading — or writing.

But lately, I’ve been missing it. Not having a job hasn’t stopped me from gaining insight about myself and the millions of other people paddling this boat with me. And when I had the chance to catch a free screening of the new George Clooney movie “Up in the Air,” I got the itch to blog again after watching Clooney’s character fire dozens of unsuspecting (albeit fictional) workers.

Before I get into the movie I want to briefly touch on the awesomeness that is entertainment on a shoestring budget. My boyfriend is incredibly adept at scoring free tickets to movies, the theater and even concerts. In the short few months we’ve been dating we’ve had box seats to “Animal Crackers” at the Goodman Theater; two pairs of free tickets to see The Pixies at the Aragon Ballroom, and movie passes to “World’s Greatest Dad” (including a Q and A with the director); Jim Carrey’s “A Christmas Carol” in 3-D; “A Serious Man;” and “Up In The Air.” Everything is more fun when it’s free.

Anyway. The timing of the “Up In The Air” screening couldn’t have been more unfortunate. I had just completed three grueling job interviews in three days, received disappointing news from two of them and correctly suspected the third wasn’t meant to be either. I was also beginning to feel the pressure of the end of my COBRA subsidy and was battling worries about running down the clock on unemployment insurance payments.

Because the screening for the movie was a couple weeks before the major release of the movie, I hadn’t yet read many reviews. All I knew was that George Clooney’s character works for a company that downsizes employees whose own companies can’t be bothered with the dirty work. Imagine your boss hiring someone else to give you the news. Ouch. What I didn’t realize was the extent to which this scenario is played out in the movie.

To add to the realism, director Jason Reitman filmed the reactions of real people — in addition to actors — upon finding out they’ve been let go. These scenes are used throughout the movie so they couldn’t all be avoided by a well-timed bathroom break. I had thought I’d gotten past the trauma that is hearing the news for the first time, but the scenes were so eloquently and accurately portrayed that it was like reliving the experience over, and over and over again.

The saving grace here is that Clooney’s character, Ryan Bingham, stays respectful, sympathetic, professional and compassionate regardless of how an employee takes the news — be it threatening to jump off a bridge or bring a gun back to the office for revenge.

Bingham faces a challenge, however, when his boss informs him that to conserve costs, the company is considering using a technology along the lines of Skype that would allow them to fire people over the Internet. Bingham rightly insists that his responsibility is to provide a human touch at such a critical time. To prove this he takes the young business whiz that developed the Skype system on the road with him and teaches her the tricks of the trade. Watching the trainee, played beautifully by Anna Kendrick, crumble after firing her first worker face-to-face, is heartbreaking.

What’s not heartbreaking, however, is the skill and care with which Clooney’s character breaks the news and offers consolation to the recently terminated. His signature line of comfort, “Everyone that has ever conquered an empire or started a new corporation had to go through what you’re going through to get there,” sounds sincere whenever he says it. When recycled by other, lesser characters, it loses its ring.

In an especially moving scene with J.K. Simmons (aka Juno’s dad), Simmons’ character worries that he’s too old to start a new career or find a new job that can provide retirement benefits. Unbeknownst to him, Bingham has gone to the trouble of procuring the man’s resume and notes that before he accepted the job he was fired from 30 years later, he attended culinary school. Bingham explains that most people ditch pursuing their dream job in favor of a comfortable but not-quite-challenging career where they stay trapped for years. Being laid off, he rationalizes, gives them a second chance.

When this message is expressed with nuance, the being downsized experience almost becomes therapeutic — at least it was for me, almost 11 months after the fact. People always try to tell you this in subtle, tentative ways that make you immediately defensive.

In a lighter moment, Kendrick’s character asks Bingham if he ever does any follow-up with his clients, and he replies it’s usually not helpful. This made me feel sorry that I’ve had to contact my former HR person more times than I’ve wanted to regarding paperwork. I bet she thought the hard part was over too.

I was beginning to recover by the time the credits rolled on the movie, but Reitman uses the credits over which to dub more audio of real people talking about their layoffs. It even features a musician describing how he wrote his song, “Uncertainty,” about the experience, and soon he’s heard strumming his acoustic guitar. At that point I grabbed my boyfriend’s hand and insisted we get away from the theater before I ran out of dry tissues.

Although the experience of seeing “Up In The Air” was traumatic, I’m still glad I saw it, even though it dredged up some of the anger and shame I thought was gone. The movie never would’ve had the same resonance — in my humble opinion — if it’d been released when the national unemployment rate wasn’t 10 percent. Nothing makes an experience feel more universal than seeing it portrayed in an Oscar-bait film. I prefer to use movies as escapism these days and look to the nightly news and documentaries for my dose of realism. Even still, it’d be a thrill to get fired by George Clooney.

5 Easy Pieces

Although my job hunt is still a work in progress at this point, I've been getting a lot of help from the folks with Chicago Public Radio's Hard Working series. And today is no exception. I'm just the first job seeker in their blog's new recurring feature, aptly called, "Give Me a Job, Please." All I had to do was answer five fun questions and send them a photo. You'll have to click through here to see the photo in all its glory, but I'll re-post the questions and answers here:

LOOKING FOR WORK AS: a writer/editor/journalist

You sit down in an interview and the boss starts with: “Tell me why you want to work here.” You say:Hopefully something that belies my desperation and still comes across as sincere. I know I’ve interviewed for jobs that I didn’t really want – reporting on niche industries I have zero interest in. Recruiters can probably sniff that out pretty fast. It’s a hard line to walk though when you really need that job – or any job, really. My poker face needs a lot of work.

Please write a haiku about your dream job.
My boss: Ira Glass
Protected from recession
Huzzah, not retail!

Tell us about a time you were a real “team player”?
I had one job that required me to write 30 to 40 newsbrief abstracts between the hours of 6 a.m. and 11 a.m. under punishing deadlines. Even on weekends and evenings. The one good thing about it was that about at least 15 other writers and editors were in it withme, and their willingness to pitch in and help me was always gratifying. As was returning the favor.

When you made a bad choice while reading a “Choose Your Own Adventure Book” did you: A) Accept your fate B) Go back to the choice and choose again, pretending you didn’t make the first choice C) Mock the writer for not understanding how the real world works D) Other
I couldn’t be bothered to read a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book, as that requires too much effort. I prefer the kind of escapism where you realize you have no control over the outcome and thus have to accept it. I have enough anxiety over the future as it is. That said, B is pretty tempting….no, wait, I mean A! Can I still pick A? See what I mean?

What else should we know about you?
That I prefer a job in publishing but since the job market in that industry is so saturated right now, I’m entertaining a lot of different options. As long as it’s not retail! I’m rapidly approaching age 30, I live in Evanston, and am a semi-regular blogger and freelance writer.

Hey, stranger

After a long vacation from regular blogging (the reasons for which I plan to enumerate later), it's time for me to get back to it.

In the meantime, I wanted to post a link to the Chicago Public Radio story I was interviewed for this summer. If you've read this blog at all, you know that one of my pet topics isunemployment etiquette. A few months after that post. CPR's Hard Working series and American Public Media decided to tackle the issue too.

You can listen to -- or read -- the result, complete with advice from "Ask Amy" Dickinson herself.

My Recession Miracle

I’m probably not the best personal banker in the world — I don’t log on to check my checking account on a daily or even weekly basis. And since my expenses are fairly static and most of my deposits are direct deposits, I generally know how much I have. Since I still only use a bank in Princeton and make car payments through my parents, they can usually see my balance too.

As a result, I was really shocked today to get an email from my mom asking if I realized I had $X amount of dollars in my account. Without being specific about the amount, just know that $X was exactly 10 times the usual amount.

Sure enough, I logged into my account and saw that she was right. On June 24, somebody that wasn’t me deposited enough cash to help me breathe a LOT easier during this bout of unemployment. I looked at my balance and wanted to cry in relief, thinking “Wow, God really DOES work in mysterious ways.”

I started to imagine who my anonymous benefactor might be. Perhaps it was an undercover Robin Hood type, one who bears a striking resemblance to George Clooney, who stole money from my last employer’s coffers and used my direct deposit information to give me a cash infusion. Or maybe it was a merry band of guerilla do-gooders that infiltrate banks in the middle of the night to plump up the bank accounts of the recently terminated.

In my head I mentally started writing another essay I would inevitably send to Chicago Public Radio about my Recession Miracle. Other listeners would call in and share their stories of finding a bit too much money in their accounts. Eventually, word would leak that it really was the doing of the Obama administration’s secret Random Acts of Kindness provision in the stimulus package.

But, alas, this isn’t the kind of banking irregularity that can go unchecked. If someone out there had my account number, they could withdraw as easily as they could deposit. The more likely scenario was that my dad goofed while depositing money from the hardware store. So I called and told him to check his account balance, and sure enough he had deposited into the wrong account.

My hopes were crushed. The giant sigh of relief I had started to breathe deflated. My healthy, vital bank account would have to go back to being pathetic once the banking error was fixed. I thought of all the different ways my life would be different if I always had that much money in the piggy bank (for better or worse). So maybe it’s not an altogether good thing, but it sure was nice while it lasted.

Unemployment According to Vogue

As a general rule, I try to avoid buying magazines that will inspire only rage — such as any issue of Maxim — but the May issue of Vogue called out to me from its impulse-purchase post in the grocery check-out aisle. It was the coverline reading “You’re Fired! Surviving and Thriving After the Pink Slip” that got me.

I thought that maybe I’d kind of be able to relate to the article’s author, a recently laid off Village Voice reporter/editor. But either alternative dailies pay a LOT better than I would’ve thought, or this woman has some other huge source of income that she isn’t disclosing. I can’t figure out if Vogue thought it was providing service journalism or material for a future chick lit novel with this article, but it definitely did not succeed on either front since I could not a) relate to the author or b) feel even the least bit bad for her. Here’s why:

1. For starters, it’s poor form that she even mentions her former company by name. I may not live in Manhattan, but I know the New York media world is small and most people can’t afford to burn bridges like that.
2. The author probably thought she was humbling herself when she said “After the shock wore off I realized I was in much better shape than a lot of other Americans,” and then goes on to admit that she already has a flourishing freelance career. But if that’s the case, why is this article even worth publishing? Finances can’t be that bad if she doesn’t even have to file for unemployment.
3. The author reveals that her low point was the day a fashion designer advised her to attempt to live only off of her freelance income and have her severance payments direct deposited. “I hated this idea. Previously I had kept the money in one big lump and just bought whatever I wanted.” She then suffered the indignity of being told by a banker that after considering fixed expenses, such as her mortgage, maintenance, cable, etc., she should endeavor to spend only $50 a day for everything else.
4. Because she’s a mathematical genius, her BlackBerry’s calculator indicates that she needs to earn a minimum of $92,000 annually to survive. Her attempts at economizing include not spending $900 for a sweater, and buying a stamp pad to make her own business cards instead of having them done at Tiffany like all her friends suggested. She also opts for a $118 silk blouse from Anthrpologie instead of a $1,000 designer version.
5. For an alternative newspaper reporter, this woman is shockingly out of touch with the price of things, especially considering her self-professed shopping addiction. She expresses such sticker shock whilst shopping for home-office supplies: “So we were at Staples, where to my amazement I learned that a combination printer/copier cost only $99, or far less than the cheapest Marc Jacobs T-shirt.”
6. Another pearl of wisdom: “I finally abandoned the budget business entirely. Instead, I concentrated on getting assignments. I stopped being snobby about writing for the Internet.” Oh, the horror!
7.  Finally, Vogue readers are supposed feel uplifted by the author’s moment of clarity by way of the First Lady’s fashion sense: [ed. note: I’m sorry you got dragged into this, Michelle] “On January 20, when Michelle Obama turned up in her glorious Isabel Toledo ensemble, it was impossible to be depressed. If Toledo, the consummate downtown designer who’s had plenty of ups and downs herself, can triumph, I thought, then maybe so can I.” Empowered, she runs back to reclaim an antique sapphire and diamond ring she had to return to the dealer after she was laid off.

Wow, thanks, Vogue. I feel a bit better about myself already!

Read here too.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

When I got laid off I felt, oddly enough, as if I had finally been given a solid return on my investment — because most often I worry endlessly about things that never come to pass. For once, the worst case scenario became a reality. But now, even though I don’t have a new job yet, I’m starting to think that unemployment is far from the worst case scenario.

 Franklin Roosevelt was on to something when, during the great depression, he cautioned “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” I used to think it was a nice sentiment, but was never quite able to put it into use, nor did I comprehend why it was such useful advice at the time. But now I see examples of this daily, if not hourly. And nowhere is it more evident — at least to me — than in the workplace. Even if you no longer have one.

To me, the prospect of being trapped in a job where you endure daily attacks on your character, talents and abilities is worse than the alternative. Many people have told me that the day they were laid off was one of the best days of their lives, although that comes as cold comfort when you’re newly laid off. They told me that they started to see severance checks as an incentive or reward for getting away from their abusive boss or toxic work environment. Granted, they may be singing a different song if they have mouths to feed and a mortgage to pay. But as Reid McCormish pointed out, the recession has made people more afraid to stand up for themselves and confront the source of the problem out of fear of retribution. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, but it may also give your company a rationale for laying you off instead of your quieter but equally as qualified coworker.

And I’m no group psychologist, but it seems lately that the recession brings out the worst in people, from Bernie Madoff to gossipy office drones — especially if their industry has been hard hit, such as the real estate, publishing, construction or auto industries. As one friend put it to me recently, the workplace would be so much more humane if people reacted to financial uncertainties with love rather than fear.

For example, a friend of mine worked for a non-profit that she adored but had to deal with a boss who became increasingly insulting as finances there worsened. Instead of having a calm, straightforward discussion about the budget, my friend’s boss fostered a hostile work environment where nobody was happy. I suspect a lot of employers are in similar situations and are hesitant to spend the severance and unemployment contributions required to lay workers off. Instead, they find more subtle and insidious ways to make employees miserable enough to up and quit. That way they never have to publicly risk looking like the bad guy.

A quieter form of on-the-job and job-search misery comes in the form of incongruous ethical standards between employer and employee. In the face of potential layoffs and prolonged bouts of unemployment, current and would-be employees are stuck between a rock and a hard place when it comes to reconciling what their boss and what their conscience demands they do. The marketplace is full of conflicting interests, but nobody wants to seem fickle when they’ve been out of a job for six months.

A former professor from my alma mater graciously returns emails and dispenses advice to graduates dealing with professional upheavals. She shared with me a response she gives when asked about such conflicts:

I am seriously uneasy about anybody ever taking a job just because they need the work. I see that as a failure waiting to happen. Yes, the opportunities right now might seem highly limited, but look for the long term. Will this job help you get where you want when the sun again shines on the economy (and it will), or will it hinder you from achieving your ultimate goals?

Look at this as a marriage. Would you jump at marrying that jerk you met in a bar just because you’re tired of being single? I seriously hope not. Nor would you stay in an abusive relationship.

[It seems as if I’m not the only one to notice similarities between matters of the heart and a new job search].

In other words, don’t make decisions this important based on fear. Or, as my friend’s boyfriend put it when she was struggling with her beloved non-profit, “Don’t make any decisions while you’re still crying.”

One couldn't possibly go wrong in following such sound advice.

This post is mirrored here.

So I got laid….off

In honor of Valentine’s Day — a holiday scorned by cynics and romantics alike — I thought it was time to break out my analogy about how being laid off and the process of finding a new job is a lot like dating. Here me out.

Regardless of whether you were happy and fulfilled with your job/relationship prior to getting the axe, the official act of being told “You are no longer needed here” stings. And I’m convinced that the grieving process associated with being laid off is very similar to the grief experienced after losing a significant other — even one you weren’t particularly attached to.

(There is one place where the scenarios diverge: after being laid off you’re expected to bounce back and do things like “Hit the ground running,” “Pound the pavement,” “Dust yourself off,” or “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps.” After the end of a relationship, however, a period of inaction is acceptable and encouraged — to an extent.)

But once one has “landed back on their feet” the real work begins: finding someone/something new. In dating-speak this is known as a “rebound.” In human resources-speak, this is known as “finding gainful employment,” and each process is fraught, what with the heartbreak of the last relationship/job still fresh.

For the newly unemployed, applying for a new job comes with a series of landmines. Do you mention the layoff on your cover letter, or do you let the dates of your employment history tell the story on your resume? How do you put a positive spin on your streak of bad luck? Do you lie or cop to an outlook you hope one day to embrace and say “Being laid off was the best thing that ever happened to me. It finally gave me an excuse to go find a job I’m passionate about,” nevermind the fact that in this economy, you’re lucky if you find one that pays your rent and your Netflix account?

The dating equivalent here is the exciting and sadistic world of online dating. Upon your well-meaning friends’ suggestion, you create an online profile that masks your status as a recent dumpee and try to paint a picture of yourself that isn’t needy and insecure, but rather breezy and devil may care. In both cases it’s advised that you hide your baggage and make light of — or even deny altogether — the fact that it (the ending of your previous job/relationship) still hurts.

The next step (with luck) is the first in-person job interview — or the dreaded first date in the dating world. Good references come in handy in both situations. Obviously, career-wise, it’s always nice if you can make a list of people willing to say good things about your abilities and work ethic. Likewise,  my friend Jennie insists that even new paramours should be willing to provide references, even if it’s just a couple of friends or exes that can vouch for this person’s integrity and tendency not to become a stalker after one missed phone call.

Since I have yet to get this far this time around, I’ll end my analogy here. The last person I shared this metaphor with suggested that clinching that new job can be likened to a second marriage (if the first one went awry). I hope that’s the case.

This post is mirrored here.

A word on living dangerously

Sometimes the events in my life are so illustrative I can only shake my head incredulously. Case in point: after an hour or two of studiously setting up this shiny new blog, whilst cross-legged on the couch, I stood up unaware that my foot was asleep. I heard a snap, bit the dust, let out a stream of expletives and sat on the floor until I worked up the nerve to stand up and hobble to the kitchen. A few hours it’s still sore and hardly a big deal, but it’s a perfect example of my life for the last couple years.

 Other people claim to be chronically klutzy or admit to being slightly disaster prone, but those folks have nothing on me. This year a friend gave me a holiday card with a handwritten message reading: “I hope 2009 will be a less dangerous year for you. Merry Christmas!”

In a little over a year and a half, this friend has been witness to myriad mini-catastrophes: my car breaking down on the expressway because of water damage; a botched Volkswagen purchase; getting rear-ended in a rental car as a result of the purchase; the acquisition of my company by a competitor leading to the dissolution of my first magazine; a pigeon mite infestation; a bloody dish washing accident resulting in a cauterized blood vessel and bandages for three weeks; the most awesome avoidance of a speeding ticket ever; an actual speeding ticket; a chunk of my bedroom ceiling falling in after a big storm; being rear-ended again; and finally, most recently the loss of my job.

I had hoped to end my year of living dangerously on Dec. 31, 2008, but now it seems I have to have to extend it. But there’s a silver lining here, folks! I never bothered to blog or even write down (save for Gmail and gChat) this unfortunate series of events, giving me material ripe for the blogging.

And since blogging is less self-indulgent than writing a memoir, I’ve decided to take my tales online. I plan to share my mistakes and misfortunes past and present – to re-tell the old ones and document the (inevitable) new ones. Your entertainment and gratification is my therapy. Enjoy!