Proclaiming Promises in Broad Daylight

Pat Benatar once complained of an aloof lover who whispered promises in the dark.

 

Songwriters: PAT BENATAR, PAT GERALDO

Never again, isn't that what you said?
You've been through this before
And you swore this time you'd think with your head
No one, would ever have you again
And if takin' was gonna get done
You'd decide where and when
Just when you think you got it down
Your heart securely tied and bound
They whisper, Promises In The Dark

Armed and ready, you fought love battles in the night
But too many opponents made you weary of the fight
Blinded by passion, you foolishly let someone in
All the warnings went off in your head
Still you had to give in

Just when you think you got it down
Resistance nowhere to be found
They whisper, Promises In The Dark

But promises, you know what they're for
It sounds so convincing, but you heard it before
Cause talk is cheap and you gotta be sure
And so you put up your guard
And you try to be hard
But your heart says try again

You desperately search for a way to conquer the fear
No line of attack has been planned to fight back the tears
Where brave and restless dreams are both won and lost
On the edge is where it seems it's well worth the cost
Just when you think you got it down
Your heart in pieces on the ground
They whisper, Promises In The Dark

She wrote of that antagonistic relationship between hope and disappointment and how hope can sometimes lead someone down a road that ultimately leads to deception and sometimes failure. And then she wrote about the uncanny human spirit that, led by the incessant beating of our heart, hopes anyway.

Today I am going to proclaim promises in broad daylight!


Being outsourced, downsized, displaced, or laid off conjures feelings of loss, betrayal, confusion, hopelessness, and worthlessness.  Is it no wonder that salvaging your sense of purpose can be a daunting task?

When an employer deems an employee "in excess," as mine unexpectedly did in an impersonal computer-generated email, which referred to me as Employee # W091, you begin to think of yourself in terms of fat to be trimmed, ballast to be discharged, and a burden who brings insignificant value to an organization.

But did you ever consider the ways in which work itself can be a burden? Think of the hours spent toiling on behalf of someone else who will reap great rewards, bonuses, and benefits while you receive a commemorative coffee mug or a poster with your name listed discreetly among others, often spelled incorrectly. Think of the hours outside of work that you spend thinking about work--worrying about work, dreading work. Think of lunch hours spent with colleagues or friends discussing work. When it all boils down to collecting your personal affects in a printer paper box and throwing away mountains of paperwork and walking out into an empty parking lot alone, you think about your life as an investment and start to think about the dividends.

The immediate dividends of work are obvious, and, let's not deceive ourselves even for a second--they are absolutely necessary. We must buy food, shelter, clothing, and health insurance, and it would be extra nice if we had extra money to spend on our hobbies and passions, too.

Work also brings us another dividend: a sense of pride in offering up your talents and hard work in return for a salary that affords us independence. No matter how dreadful Monday mornings are, by Friday afternoon you are as equally grateful for the pending weekend as you are for the job that allows you to go have some fun with the money you earned.

I've been laid off three times this decade. In 2002, the publishing house I worked for was bought by a bigger house that already had staff. In 2007, my job was sent to India. And just a few months ago, I learned that my boss was given incentive to cut staff and would receive a bonus for every person he let go. Evidently, it's lucrative business to wield the ax of perceived chaff reduction.

As I mused that he probably received a gift card to St. Elmo's Steakhouse or maybe Applebee's as his three pieces of silver, I felt my own cutting remarks bleeding me just a little bit. In making fun of this Machiavellian practice, I was also making fun of myself.

I spent two mornings wallowing, once on the first Monday after my official lay-off and once on the first Monday after my trip to Alaska. Both times it happened on a Monday. This was a similar pattern I noticed in past layoffs. Sometimes I catch myself feeling a sense of dread on Sunday nights, knowing that the next day is Monday and I'd have to go back to work. During layoffs, I felt a sense of dread that the weekend was ending and that I didn't have a job to go to in the morning. How in the world did I let my thoughts get taught up in this endless cycle of negativity and an identical result even when circumstances were exactly opposite?

When some well-meaning and incensed friends proclaimed that I'd already had my share of bad luck and layoffs, and that this was not fair , I internally dismissed it. Fairness has nothing to do with it. Bad things happen. Good things happen. It's random. The more time I spend thinking about the injustice of it, the less time I have to create a positive income. I also realized early on that wallowing was a waste of time, and time is simply a gift too precious to waste. This time, I wallowed not long. I simply couldn't afford it this time.

I don't know how it happened, but somewhere along the line, I matured. I handled it with grace. I knew I would be okay no matter what. I finally did naturally what I always read and heard you should do--look at every obstacle as an opportunity.

When I said goodbye to the colleagues I've known on this project for the past seven years, they all stated similar sentiments: they envied me. They'd never willfully trade places with me, but even they saw the lure and promise of a blank slate and new horizons. When I told them of my pending travels, their eyes at once lit up for me and dimmed for themselves. They know they would never have weeks on end to spend exploring the wilderness of Washington and Alaska. And I knew it too. I was lucky. And it didn't take me long to get to that realization, perhaps because I am now tempered by age and experience, and with that--finally, finally, finally--wisdom.  Finally, I have learned to listen to the sages and to fight off the destructive forces of sarcasm, a mechanism I've often used to protect myself. It not only didn't protect me from harm, it caused harm and wasted time.

This time would be different. This time I'll be different. I'll better. I'll be okay. And in Alaska, standing atop Hilbert Glacier talking a young man from Georgia who was teaching me how to drive a sled dog team, I told myself, "You must be open." I must be open to people, ideas, experiences, and occupations I would have never considered before. I could network tirelessly until I got my foot in the door to the next tier of my career trajectory. I could live more modestly in every realm--particularly in that sometimes suffocating realm of "pride." I would consider not tying my occupation to my sense of pride. (What this meant was accepting different types of work, such as working at Trader Joe's or Starbucks and learning to be happy with less.) But what really tugged at me was the notion that I must open to what inspires me.

In a brief conversation, I learned that his sled dog instructor had been living in Idaho and had heard about the job from a friend who thought he might be a good fit, based on his experience of leading tours in the crevasses of Norway. He was 22 years old and from a small town in Georgia. And he was happy. He was living in a tented camp ground on top a glacier with eight people and 48 dogs. He had no electricity, no beer or any other alcohol, and no communication with the outside world. Once every six weeks, he would spend one week in Junuea. While it wouldn't be a job he would keep his entire life, it would no doubt be some of the most memorable work he'd ever do.

I decided that age had nothing to do with it, and that if possibilities like that one presented themselves, then I would consider those opportunities viable options, not just passing fancies. On top of that glacier, I became empowered to explore my sense of wonder.

So on that first Monday after my return home when I woke up, realized that my adventure was over and that I had to find a job, and started to feel panicked and depressed, I threw off that blanket of woolen wallow, and I plotted my survival and pending success with tangible goals.

I determined that it is a much more worthwhile voyage to discover your sense of wonder rather than to attempt to salvage a sense of worth that is tenuously arbitrated by someone else's fleeting notions and poorly informed decisions.

This was such a monumental moment of insight, personal growth, and potential that I decided to document it here. As long as I wasn't going to work for someone else and get paid for it, then I was going to work hard for myself and pay myself in strategies, memories, and personal productivity.

Everyday I would follow the same schedule:
Submit resumes and cover letters
Network with those who are more established in my field
Locate freelance opportunities
Open job search to all careers
Exercise
Organize and clean my house
Improve my lodgings
Keep in touch with friends
Pursue passions
Explore new vistas
Socialize daily or nightly
Travel as much as possible

Keeping a schedule, a list of goals, and list of daily tasks appealed to my sense of control, and gave me a daily schedule that would make me stay productive and positive. What's more is that if I were going to be faced with a lengthy unemployment status, then I would have the comfort of knowing that I did everything possible to improve my lot.

Making time for my hobbies (arts and travel) appealed to sense of passion.

Making time for relationships appealed to my sense of personal connection.

I decided I have but three pieces in life, and that I must treat them with all with the utmost and equal respect.

2007 was the darkest year I've ever had. Despite being surrounded by friends and family and doing some of the most extraordinary and spontaneous travel of my life, I was incredibly out of balance and drowning in negativity. When I look back on the year, I flinch remembering the profound pain and hopeless I felt. What a waste it seems now that these wonderful memories I managed to create during a dark time are tainted by the darkness itself.
 
--And so you put up your guard
And you try to be hard
But your heart says try again ---

This time, my determination to make this time worthwhile will be the sunray that will chase away those clouds and the candle that will illuminate my path.

I hereby promise myself and make this oath because this is it. One day I could be contemplating my various successes and happiness, and I could very well trace back everything good that's happened to this one bad thing that happened, this one bad thing that made me seek out better opportunities.

I promise me this. Today. In broad daylight.