The pungent possibility of periwinkle

I want a box of new Crayola 64s with the sharpener built into the back of the box.  Before I use them, I'll stare at them awhile.  I'll just sit there and breathe in their magical waxy smell, all pungent with possibility.  I'll pick out my favorite colors like periwinkle and magenta and cornflower and spring green and ... red.

I want a Trapper Keeper to keep all my folders and loose-leaf papers in, because I vow this will be the year I stay neat and organized.

I want a crisp new white uniform blouse, one that doesn't bear the faint shadows of last year's mustard stains down the front.

I want some #2 pencils with an extra Pink Pearl eraser because I always wear out the stupid little erasers on the ends of the pencils from all my math mistakes.

I want some new elastics and yarn ties for my hair.

I want some knee socks that won't fall down.

I want a good report card.

"Hope is a good thing"

In the movie Shawshank Redemption, the character Andy Dufresne said:  "Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies."

One of my friends got a job today, after holding her head and hopes high for more than a year.  She never gave up, even when she felt like it.  She kept going, kept doing what she needed to do.  Now she'll pack up that cardboard box again, and this time walk INTO a brand new place of employment.  

Hope is a good thing, but so is good old perseverance.  Congratulations for tunneling your way out, KC.

Slivers

I love slivered almonds.

I love slivers of sunlight streaking through gray storm clouds at a summer sunset, like slivers of God.

I love the slivers of chocolate and mint in those little Fannie May candies with the green sliver sandwiched neatly in the middle.   When I was a kid, I would pull them apart ever so carefully and eat each piece individually.

I love slivers of truth in Freudian slips.

I love slivers of epiphanies as they hit you while you are pumping up the volume on a much-needed workout.

I love slivers of kisses in public and giggling that people will think we're too old to be acting this way.

I love slivers of breezes that fill the sails and make them luff and laugh with promise.

I love slivers of hope and revelation that dawn with the new day just when you think the night is closing in.

I love slivers. 

Rescue

When you think about conquering new mountaintops, and rescuing the remainder of your productive years, you don’t always have to set out for Mt. Everest. Sometimes you should start with the hill in your own backyard.

My saving grace lately has been channeling whatever creative energy I have into writing for one of my passions: a horse rescue.

I took over their good old-fashioned print newsletter for their non-computer-savvy supporters. I manage their Facebook page (a 37% increase in fans and activity over the past month, plus a surge in donations and a couple of potential adopters). I plan to do some stories for horse publications and press releases on upcoming fundraisers. If I charged them for this, I could make it my full-time gig.

But what fun. I think I’m getting more out of it than they are. I’m learning about how to use social media: (Squidoo… never even heard of it a week ago) …. and how to translate Facebook fans into donating members and get them to spread the word. I know who my demographic is (women between the ages of 35-44), how to appeal to their emotions, what time they log on, what posts generate response and activity, and that the more pictures of pretty horses, the better.

More importantly I’m also learning how the rescue operates; the gargantuan commitment it requires; the financial challenges; how horses and owners are matched up for the benefit of both; how the huge animals can be felled overnight by tiny microbes; and how people rally around the support of an animal sometimes more readily than they will for fellow humans. (That’s probably the topic of another blog someday, or a research project for my son, the future shrink.)

Winston Churchill said, “There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man.”

So perhaps, in the act of rescuing, we are in fact, rescued.

Downhill

My blog is not about bashing a company I've worked for for 20 years.

My blog is about what it's like to survive the greatest economic crash since the Great Depression.  It's about the pain of that experience ... about the hard-working people who were victims ... about their stories of transformation and recovery ... and about my own desire to recreate myself and my career as I approach the mid-century mark in my life.  I'm certainly not the first to want to do something new and different, and I certainly won't be the last.  Maybe I'll do it, and maybe I won't, but if the only thing I can do is write about  it -- then that's what I'm going to do.

Just because I have felt restrained and restricted in a corporate environment doesn't mean I hate the corporation.  There has never been one day in the past 20+ years that I haven't been grateful for my employment and grateful for the opportunities I have been given.  I was able to raise a child by myself, remain independent, work with (and for) incredible people, challenge myself, and challenge -- some say irritate -- others.

The stories I tell and the opinions I express can be lifted out of context and dropped easily into virtually any other field or any other employer.  Those who read my blog have said:  "this sounds like my world" -- and their world is far removed from my own.

Yesterday's blog entry was a cautionary tale.  After the pain so many have experienced, there was a momentary delight in seeing the powerful drop from positions on high like enemy aircraft shot from the sky.  But karma is real, folks, and the tragedy of this collapse is far from over:  there is more pain to come, and the laws of physics and economic reality operate in tandem:  it all rolls downhill.

Shake-up

There’s been another major shake-up at the Big Company.

This time, it wasn’t the peons who walked out the doors carrying their cardboard boxes – it was a goodly number of Big Shots.

Big Shot shake-ups happen at other companies all the time. Not as often as the peons would like, but they happen.

But not here. It’s not the corporate culture. Oh, every once in awhile, they’ll pick one off under the guise of an early retirement -- but not this many, not all at once. The Biggest Shot of all sent a clear message: "I’m not going to let this place go to hell any more, and I’m not afraid to clean house, and I’m starting with you."

Wow. That’s actually … refreshing … like a cold drink on a hot day. On behalf of all my colleagues who walked out the door last year with only their cardboard boxes and their dignity, I applaud it.

The only casualty in the mix was someone who actually seemed like a pretty good guy. The peons liked him, anyway. People could talk to him and he actually listened to their ideas – he even took some of mine a few times. He wasn’t so full of himself that he believed he had all the answers. But that probably ended up being his downfall: he didn’t shake things up in his own house fast enough to suit the Bigger Shots. And for that, I feel a real pang of dismay for the guy. I liked him.

My sympathy is short-lived, however, when I picture the weight of the Golden Parachute strapped to his back as he walks out the door with his own cardboard boxes. I just hope it’s worth all the personal sacrifices he had to make to get to the rank of Big Shot to begin with, because you can be sure – he made them.

Ah, that’s today. The undercurrent of downstream implication will swell to the surface soon enough, and the glory of divine retribution, sweet on our lips momentarily, will inevitably turn sour.

I bought a lemon shake-up at a sandwich cart one time, and the guy was in the middle of shaking it up, when the lid flew off and it exploded in every direction, soaking him and me and other people waiting in line.

Innocent lemons were hurt.

Shake-ups are funny like that sometimes.

Missing the obvious because we're too wrapped up in trying to look smart

As I have done for most of my career, I am trying to help people tell a complicated story that (they hope) will justify their existence.

It's not working out very well.

Because to be an effective explicator, one needs actual substance to explicate.  Oh, I can spin things 'round and 'round for a good long time, but eventually the spin cycle has to end. You either wear out the workings of your washing machine, or you realize you never had any laundry in the washer to begin with.

When this happens, and it happens often, I spend a lot of time beating myself up.  "I just don't get it.  I'm not smart enough to understand this.  Why doesn't this make sense, why isn't it connecting in my brain, what is wrong with me?"  I actually get depressed.  I live in fear every day that they will figure out I'm a moron and fire me.  (They haven't -- yet -- in 20 years, but it's still my fear.)

Then the light bulb comes on and I realize it's not me at all.   Maybe I'm not very smart, being just a has-been liberal arts major from several decades past, but I'm not a complete moron.   CEOs have listened to me.  PhDs have listened to me.  Hell, teenagers have listened to me.  The obvious hits me squarely in the face, always a little too late:  everybody is so wrapped up in fear and in justifying their existence, we ourselves are spinning 'round and 'round, going nowhere.

Sometimes I sit back in wonder and awe at the amount of money they pay us to spin nothing; to build nothing; to create nothing.  I watch myself and others complicate things to the point of sheer agony, because the more complicated this stuff seems, the smarter we seem. 

I participate in the dance because I have bills to pay, and people to take care of.  Many of the others are doing the same thing; but I think far too many come to believe the empty words I help them spin. 

My grandfather could point to a building he laid the brick for and say, "I built that courthouse." 

He wasn't a rich man, but he knew what he did.  It was obvious to him.
(And the courthouse is still there, 96 years later.)

It's about time

It’s all about time:  the passage of time, the lack of time, the rhythm and pace of time.

"There never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do, once you find them ….” Jim Croce said that in a song once.

In my "free" time, I research my great-great grandfather, a tall, lanky fellow whom family lore claims was a Cherokee Indian, hiding his racial identity.  His story has gripped me for years.  A while back, I had plenty of time to devote to that project. At one point, I looked up from records and websites and worn photos, and realized 16 hours had dissolved away in the blink of an eye.

Then a couple of months ago, I celebrated my birthday, and wondered where five decades had gone: I looked up, and they, too, had dissolved away in the blink of an eye.

Time.

When I started the research project, I assumed too much time had passed since these people left the world to tell their stories. After all, we are kept alive by the memories of generations who follow us. They remember the sound of our voices, the food we liked, our quirks and eccentricities -- all those things that make us human -- what we were like when we walked the earth and loved and laughed and cried and failed.  But those generations, too, have faded, and with them, memories of far more than what’s written in census records and birth certificates. And after all this time, I wasn't sure who would really care.

But I was wrong.

A strange thing is happening. I’m finding distant cousins I didn’t know existed. I’m reconnecting with family I haven’t talked to in years. And I’m discovering that there are indeed people who remember….

… my mother, who is 85
… my uncle, who is 89
… their cousin, who is 87

… people whose memories are peppered with fragmented images and impressions of their great-grandparents and great aunts and uncles. We must draw these memories out, while there is still time.

I didn't expect this project to bring us all together. We’re talking on the phone more often. We’re connecting on Facebook. We’re sharing family photos. We’re shooting emails around.  We're laughing about what we do remember.  We’re thinking about how we are all connected, and how we wish we had asked more questions when we were young, when more of our people were here, before time escaped us.  We wish we could make our children as interested in this as we are; but someday they will be, in their own time, as ours begins to run out.

So many stories to be told.  But there is that paycheck to be earned, and lots of driving to do, and piles of time spent doing what we must do, not necessarily those things that make time fly.

Working from home has its perks

I like working from home.

I don't have to put makeup on in the morning or figure out which top goes with which bottom and which shoes won't hurt today.

Elliott the Office Manager

I can take a "lunch" break and go for a power walk or bike ride and not worry about sweating up my silks.

And best of all, my Office Manager keeps a keen eye on the world for me.

"I write ... sort of ... business stuff... zzzzzzz"

I rent a room in a house for an artists-in-residence foundation. It gives me a place to crash when I have to be here to work. And it gives the foundation a little bit of steady income.

Since I started staying here five months ago, I've met a poet, an architecture professor, and a painter from Korea. The poet is now a friend of mine on Facebook. The professor is off presenting his research in Finland. And the Korean painter -- well, I think she went home, after spending much of her time making sure I didn't eat any of her food in the fridge.

But suddenly, all at once, there are 3 other people here .....

... a painter, who's transformed the garage into his private studio;












.... a performance artist;










and a sculptor I haven't crossed paths with yet.

Being a bit of an oddball myself, I thought I'd actually fit in pretty well with funky people like this. So what's the reaction of the artists when they meet me? "You're not an ARTIST? So why are you HERE? You do WHAT? WHY?"

Good questions.

Is it time for a change? or a change for the times?

This is a born-again blog: born again, several times, in fact.

It began in the darkest days of the Great Downturn of 2009, with stories told through the eyes of a confused, sad, mysteriously-spared survivor: me.

It morphed into happier stories of transformation: how laid-off people were changing their lives and going after new dreams or long-forgotten aspirations.

Now it is about my own transformation; how I intend to pursue my own dreams, my own long-shelved career aspirations, my own pursuit of freedom and independence.

For nearly 20 years, my peace symbol necklace has been more than a small token of unspoken rebellion; it's been a symbol of hope that someday I might find the courage, tenacity, and opportunity to create a new path for myself.

The time has come.

This is my journey.

Torn

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.

Cruise ships and concealed weapons

Sue was a graphic designer and exhibits manager at The Big Company and was very good at it. She designed exhibits for trade shows, and oversaw the creation of everything her clients needed to pull off a big event: booth design, messages, graphics, in-booth talent, promotions, tents, and more. Folks sought her out. She was very creative and easy to work with.

Best of all, she really loved what she did. After 12 years with the company, she found her niche and was building a huge following with her internal clients. She was making great money and incredibly proud of herself.

Despite her talents and stellar reputation, Sue’s name popped up on the layoff spreadsheet. Marketing budgets simply vaporized.

When management broke the news to her, they told her she might be called back as the economy improved in a year or so. But they also told her there were no guarantees and she should move on with her life.

And with that, she packed her cardboard box and left. The entire floor seemed deserted that day; even the survivors left because there was simply too much bad news seeping into every corner.

Grief set in. What made matters worse was no one from her work group got in touch with her – it’s as if everyone disappeared. Was it out of guilt or lack of compassion or just plain fear? It didn’t matter – their silence only exacerbated the hurt. “It was horrible,” Sue remembers.

For a month she allowed herself time to get over the shock. But then she pulled herself together and starting the great job search. Taking the traditional route, Sue began applying to hundreds of jobs online, nationwide. She was willing to go wherever the work was. But to no avail. Each posted opening would receive thousands and thousands of applicants. She grew depressed as she watched people from the window of her downtown condo heading off to work each morning.

She knew she needed a plan B, and she needed it quickly. She drove from the Midwest down to Sarasota, Florida to investigate the traditional job market there. That’s when serendipity intervened.

Several people Sue met in Sarasota remarked she should go into business for herself and quit giving away her talents and selling herself short. But she didn’t know how to make that happen. One day, she was cleaning out her email spam folder and found an ad for franchising opportunities in the travel and cruising industry. Wow -- she loved to travel, but she'd never thought about travel as a career. Sue decided to investigate the company and see if this was something for her.

After a great deal of research and satisfied with what she learned, she took a leap of faith and made a gutsy move. She cleaned out her emergency savings and bought into the cruise franchise.

Sue attended training sessions, inspected some of the ships, and developed a real respect for the industry. “The ships are magnificent … the attention to detail, the workmanship, the choices, the adventure, the destinations … the people.” But, she says, the best part of her new business will be the ability to travel with the special groups and be their host for the receptions, shore excursions and activities.

Ultimately, Sue wants to set up permanent shop for her new business in Sarasota. She joined the Sarasota Chamber of Commerce and will begin issuing press releases next month. In the meantime, she is learning by leaps and bounds and is thoroughly enjoying a liberating lifestyle.

Sue planned that it would take a full year to begin making money – but she says, “Just watch me!” Without spending a dime in advertising, she already has a website, customers flooding in, and an ever-expanding lead list of affluent retirees in Florida. Sue’s family and friends are getting into the game, helping her network and drum up potential clients. She even has an associate in California working with her now, putting together a class reunion cruise.

“What will make my new company successful in the end is not my pricing. It will be the relationships I develop with my customers and the personal service I can provide (just like I did back at The Big Company). Travel agents are coming back! There are many people who don’t want to surf the internet for the cheapest way to travel. They want one person to call to get the job done right, and then be there to help them through the experience.” Sue says with a wide grin, “And that’s gonna be me!”

There’s one more big change Sue’s gone through the past 6 months…
“Because I am traveling alone so much I bought a gun, learned to shoot, and took courses to carry a concealed weapon legally. Another unexpected learning experience!”

We’ll see what happens if The Big Company calls her back. But by then, Sue will probably be off at sea, raking in big bucks, and having the time of her life.

Check out her website: http://www.cruisingencounters.com/

From Corporate Powerhouse to Free-Wheeling First Mate

I don't think there's a single person out there who hasn't dreamed of chucking it all and sailing off into the sunset, in one way or another.

Well, Annie's doing exactly that. Literally. Sailing off into the sunset. For real.

She traded in her high-powered, high-pressure, high-paying job for the high seas. She's sailing the world with her Tom and her EMMA. (Tom's her gorgeous man; EMMA's her gorgeous sailboat.)

Annie fell in love with sailing a few years back and planned her vacations around charters and lessons. She met Tom at a sailing class in Florida and fell in love with him, too. Both had dreamed of sailing around the world as a lifestyle, not just as an extended vacation. Tom had already decided he was going to do it: he'd begun plans to leave his construction job in Ohio and go hunt for the right sailboat. Now, with a partner and a shared dream, Tom and Annie set off together.

Annie and Tom tell the story much better than I can. They have their own blog, in which they've been chronicling their story, right back to the day they found EMMA in a boatyard in Newport, Rhode Island, and throughout the months of preparation until EMMA was seaworthy: sailblogs.com/member/emma.

Now they're at anchor in Annapolis, Maryland, where they've spent the last few months bonding with local sailors and preparing themselves for an autumn journey south to greet warmer seas before winter sets in. Tom's been earning some money by refurbishing a schooner (One World) in a local yachtyard. They are going to be part of the crew who helps deliver One World to the British Virgin Islands.

My joy was meeting up with them this summer and witnessing firsthand the remarkable transformation Annie has made, from Corporate Powerhouse to Free-Wheeling First Mate. She's relaxed, she's happy, she's learned to live simply. She makes bags from old sails and sews canvas dodgers for paying clients. She rows a dinghy ashore with her foldable bike to shop local farmers' markets. She bakes cookies and apple pan dowdy in her tiny galley.

I hope you'll follow Annie and Tom's blog as they set out for far shores. It's not very often you a real tale of two courageous people who risked everything and did what the rest of us only dream about: chucking it all and sailing off into the sunset.

Life after cubicles

Blink your eye and 6 months fly by.

We're all plodding away, riding the waves of "rolling" layoff. Nobody's feeling sorry for themselves, though: we still can't forget those folks who walked out the door for good with those cardboard boxes.

The past year has given everyone a chance to think about life after cubicles. No longer complacent, no longer arrogant, no longer feeling safe or entitled to a job with a company for life, many of us have used our "laycations" wisely. We've spent extra time with our families. We've reconnected with what's important. We've thought about life beyond this place: "what would I do if I couldn't come back here? What's my Plan B? C? D? I didn't have a back-up plan when all this hit. I sure as hell better have one now."

Some people can't -- or don't want to -- see beyond the walls of their cubicles. And that's fine, if that suits them. But for others, being laid off (permanently or just now and then), separated, retired, or otherwise, has opened their eyes to a world of possibility.

Here are just a few I know about, but I plan to scout around and tell you more stories. Former cube-dwellers are now:

• Buying a furniture refinishing business.


• Establishing a franchise as a travel agent for the major cruise lines.


• Writing a book.


• Designing golf clubs.


• Finishing a master's degree.


• Building a billiard's bar.


• Sailing the world (literally).

Whadya know? There's a world out there. Lots more coming on this subject.

Rag dolls

We left-behinds are tossed about like rag dolls....

"Go work for him. No, wait! Go work for her. No, on second thought, pack up your stuff again (but don't hurt your back when you move your boxes, so be sure to bend your knees) and move over there and work for them."


Q. What is my job?
A. We don't know. Just do something till we tell you to stop and do something else.

Q. Who is my boss?
A. That has yet to be determined. For now, just take direction from anyone who approaches you in your cubicle.

Q. Will I make the same salary?
A. Oh, now that's a good question. We are reevaluating compensation structure, cutting base pay, eliminating incentive pay and merit increases, slashing benefits and pensions, and will probably end up asking you to pay US for the privilege of working here. So just wait to see what's in your next paycheck -- if you get one. Payroll people have been laid off, so there will be some glitches.

Q. How can I function?
A. Just be glad you have a job.

Good tidings?

Housing starts up 22% in February.

Durable goods orders increased 3.4 percent in February, and purchases of new homes jumped 4.7 percent.

Stock market has rallied and surged 21 percent since hitting 12-year lows.

Could this mean we had finally hit bottom?

Mini trips

I just finished a Skype video call with my future husband, who's all the way across the country right now, visiting friends. I was supposed to be with him on this mini-trip, but I didn't go because I was too afraid of leaving work when everyone is being laid off. (Now's not the time to be gone on mini-trips.)

Then I got to thinking, after we all blew kisses and "wish-we-were-together"s at each other -- what's the point? Why didn't I go? What difference would it have made if I were here or not? If they're going to get to my name on the layoff spreadsheet, they will if I'm on a mini-trip or not. And out of fear I missed a few irreplaceable days with the man I love, and some wonderful people who love us.

I've spent far too many years picking work over the people I love, despite my best efforts not to. And was it out of ambition? Loyalty? Passion for what I do? No. None of the above. It was out of fear. Fear of losing my livelihood. Fear of ending up living in squallor. And worst of all, fear of being dependent on someone else.

My future husband lives in another city, so we do a lot of Skype calling. We'll keep doing it, because we both have to hang on to some sort of livelihood.

Moving on

So I spent a rainy Sunday working on a laid-off colleague's resume. It felt good to do something positive for somebody, to help her think about the future and moving on. It's still incredibly difficult for people who've spent so much of their careers and lives devoted to one company to even conceive of working somewhere else. "We thought we'd be here always. We thought it would be here for us."

But wow -- you should see her credentials. Her experience! Her accomplishments! Until I put her through a grueling exercise to really think about what she had to offer, she didn't understand it thoroughly herself. Maybe this is a first step for her.

I can't find her a job. But maybe I helped give her a powerful new tool for her toolbox: confidence.

Great NYTimes article: how to help a laid-off friend

This is great.

NYTimes March 21