Suddenly I’m not so sure my “life after cubicles / life after layoff” series was such a good idea.
Encouraging stories started popping up, and I was compelled to tell them. It seemed, for the first time in many dark months, that a few people were starting to move on with their lives and find new hope. I’ve written two, and I have several more in the hopper. But now I’m second-guessing myself. For as many seed pearls of hope I find strewn amongst the rubble, I find even more who are still wedged between the rocks.
Perhaps I’m naïve, even at this advanced age. Personally, I love stories of people who reach beyond pre-conceived limitations, spread their wings, soar to new heights of possibility they had never considered before -- and by their example, encourage those who were yet struggling. Altruistic and idealistic, I was motivated by a grandiose vision of perhaps helping my laid-off friends and colleagues find a new flight path of their own, if only by being a voice to tell the stories.
But I think it may be doing more harm than good. Not everyone is encouraged by others' success.
Too many people are still struggling. Too many people meet disappointment every day. As one person told me yesterday, “I’ve lost my ‘happy.’ I’ve lost my smile."
Or: "Is there something wrong with me because I don't have a story like that to tell? I just want my old cubicle back...."
It’s easy enough for me to sit here and write my silly little blog and hope for world peace, because I still have a job to go to. It’s definitely not fair, and therefore perhaps it’s not right for me to continue.
Most of the time I don’t even want to say anything when things go well, because others respond with: “must be nice; my life sucks.” When I complain about work, they say, “at least you have a job to complain about.” So when I say nothing at all, I’m accused of not caring or communicating.
I don’t have much to offer, just the power of the pen, and I thought perhaps I would wield it for something other than my paycheck for a change.
I’m torn.
