My last feature package for the Salt Lake Tribune before the May 14 layoffs, on hospital chaplains, has gone worldwide thanks to AP (a long ago employer). Spotted in Europe and Korea, etc.
A bittersweet thing, though I hang on to the idea that at least I went out doing my best work. Connected to that story, however, was an offer made by one of the chaplains I interviewed to provide me with "grief counseling."
What? But now, almost three weeks out, I get it. The stages of grief in suddenly, unexpectedly losing a job are indeed similar in some respects to loss of a loved one. (
1) Denial, as in erecting an emotional buffer, downplaying the impact of the loss on one's finances and self-esteem. I did that, filling my initial days to appointments to arrange 401k rollovers, Medicare coverage, a ton of long-neglected domestic repairs and tasks, just to feel like I was accomplishing . . . something.
(2) Anger. This didn't last long, actually, but it was there for a while, and when one hears how well those last articles were accepted, it validates self-worth, sure, but also elevates the question, "Then why?"
The answer, honestly, has to be "Why not?" especially when it's not all about you, after all, and realizing that 33 other great people are asking the same questions.
(3) Bargaining. Well, there was none of that, since no alternatives were provided . . . unless scrambling to fill the now-empty hours with other work -- any work -- counts; I actually did that, filled out the employment forms, took training, and then realized I just could not be happy in the offered position -- truly, a square peg/round hole situation.
(4) Depression. Didn't really come until earlier this week, culminating with the pits on Wednesday.
Long story short(er), you give yourself time to process, once you realize this is your new reality . . . and, despite how it feels, you now must explore the long-dormant other values of life, allow faith, introspection and learning to re-invent, or resurrect your long shelved dreams and interests.
(5) And so comes Acceptance. As a former editor of mine used to say, ad nauseum, "It is what it is."
In both the loss of a loved one, or of a job that so defined you for decades, you must eventually bury the dead.
Truly, it stinks, but that's OK. Once in the hallowed ground of memory, suitably mourned and honored, you take your eyes off the freshly turned earth and walk toward the sun.
It will get better; there is more of life ahead, and you will, eventually, find ways to embrace the freedom.
For me, that means more time to pursue a part-time avocation, now as a vocation: freelance writing and editing. I've co- or ghost-written a dozen books and hundreds of articles over the last couple decades through my DBA, MimsMedia; I hope to do many more.
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