BoomerBlix

Finding a Balance: Writing for Fun OR Profit...

It always comes down to finding a balance, doesn't it?  

Finding myself in "sudden" retirement in mid-December prompted me to get serious about freelance writing. I had been dabbling part-time for a year. Did a couple of cool projects, including writing online courses for Certified Nursing Assistants; a few articles for a sweet young Brazilian woman who's launching a Super Food Box product; and some blogs for a company that sells travel underwear with little hidden pockets. Although I feared the Super Food Box was too late to the game, and the travel underwear presented certain delicate logistics when it came time to retrieve a credit card, I gave them my all. And they gave me five stars on the freelance website where we had found each other.

I made money, but the kind my grandmother used to call "pin money," meaning enough to buy a Starbucks or two...but by then, I had already given up anything as extravagant as coffee outside my home. Sudden retirement will do that to you, make you assess all expenses. The good old days were definitely gone. 

So I did what lots of others would do: I worked harder. Twelve hours a day, every single day. BoomerBlix was the first to go. Why? It brings in no income. Last fall, I had applied--and been accepted--by Amazon.com to be an "affiliate partner" meaning I could place ads on my blog site. Each click would earn me "passive income." I developed several lists for folks interested in the Camino; book lists related to my posts; and added the Daily Deals. REI was even tougher, but after awhile, I became an affiliate partner.  Sounds sweet, eh? The only downside was that not one single person clicked. Ever. In fact, both have since fired me as an affiliate partner; I took it with my head high. Not the first time I've received that kind of news.  

I was sad to set BoomerBlix aside, and am grateful to my steadfast readers who asked me to get back to it. But it still took me a little more time to arrive here.

Back to my writing. I followed all the standard advice. Set up a website--check. (Please don't visit it just yet. It needs a serious overhaul. Terrible color scheme!) Establish a niche--check. (Although much to my delight, I'm not only a medical/health expert, I'm also gaining traction as a travel writer.) Write every day--check. (But not about what you love, unfortunately...)

I found a nifty company that hires freelance bloggers. I applied and got accepted. Easy-peasy concept: Write--rather, ghostwrite--blogs for companies who don't have time or people to do it. Since Google changed its SEO algorithm, blogs are increasingly important to drive searchers to a company website. Frequent blogs increase the odds. Hence, I joined an army of writers who knock out blogs from a list of keywords provided by the business. For $8 each. If accepted. That's right, not only is the pay downright hilarious, but I don't receive anything until the company says so. It's called "writing on speculation." If my handiwork is rejected, then I get nothing. 

Still, it's work and I need it. I've written about 120 blogs, but haven't been paid for all. A few were rejected; two companies cancelled their subscriptions, leaving me with posts such as: "Why Choose a Double-Sided Mattress?" and "Beach Vacations: Dream It and Do It." (Let me know if you're interested in either....)  Other posts are waiting in a queue, and will be considered in the coming weeks. It's easy writing, but not exactly stretching my creative skills. Unless you consider "How to Build a Great Workplace in Ten Easy Steps" to be imaginative. I don't. 

Back to balance, then. After a couple of months, it occurs to to me that I have none. Zilch. Zippo. I'm hunched over at my dining room table, churning out posts on everything from ice fishing in Ontario to mouth wash comparisons to why dentists should offer Botox services. And I'm starting to get cranky. It also occurs to me that maybe I could give up an hour here and there and return to my steadfast readers. 

I've not felt this happy in a long, long time. Eventually, I'll get clients and they will be glad they hired me. As I develop my business, I'll probably keep doing the $8 blog posts--although I think ghostwriting is the most unsatisfying task in the world. All of the work, none of the credit.

I can live without Starbucks, but not without this. And you! Onward!

 

 

 

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Obvious Life Lessons: Learn from Fellow Travelers

Obvious Life Lessons: Attitude of Gratitude

Social Media Suicide...When You Have to "Disappear"

You may recall that in late February 2011, I abruptly ended Boomerblix. After carefully nurturing my "baby," and steadily growing my blog reader base, I shut it down. Just like that. Ouch. It really, really hurt. 

Why did I do it, you ask?  Here's what you told me: We looked forward to each Blix. We enjoyed your keen insights and your uncanny way of describing our lives, too.

Aw, shucks. Thanks! Glad you want to know--it has bothered me greatly ever since.

One of the first things learned when starting a job hunt is that you MUST become "search neutral." This means trying to eliminate all traces of anything that could be remotely interpreted as being a reason not to employ you.

Anything.

It was projected that by the end of 2012, almost 100% of companies would do an internet search on each job candidate. From those searches, 35% will be eliminated based on information obtained online, before any formal interview.  If--based solely on what turns up--an applicant is deemed not to be "safe" or "a good fit" then the hiring process stops.

Where do companies look, anyway?

• Most will use Google, or a similar search engine.  Have you ever Googled yourself? You might be surprised. You think you're just an Average Joe, but then, Wham! There you are! Try it.
• Over 50% will check out Facebook. Yep, those party or vacation photos, political cartoons, funny quotes, sarcastic comments...even your "likes" come under scrutiny.
• Then there's the Twitter activity. Your career, cut-off-at-the-knees by 140 characters. Those Tweets matter, folks.
• This one got me: Ever post a review on Yelp? TripAdvisor? A comment on a blog or website?  If it can be traced, it can--and will--be used against you.

Mind you, all this is done without your knowledge or consent.  Sometimes a potential employer will do a credit check, but they are required to obtain written approval. Plus, it's part of the final hiring process. By then, you're practically home-free.

So there I was, between a Blix and a hard place. 

"So, where the hell did you go?"

"So, where the hell did you go?"

Yep, I figured that would be the first question you asked me.  I don't blame you.

It's going to take a few posts to get everyone up to speed--not that my life has been all that exciting and exotic--but there are a few interesting events that will take some time to tell.  I'm channeling JK Rowling here, making readers pant for the next installment of Harry Potter...except I've already lost over two years and will never, ever let that happen again. Promise.

When I posted my last Blix, I had just been kicked in the gut, punched in the jaw, stabbed in the heart, and poisoned.  Maybe not literally, but my company-sanctioned-fantasy of relocating to Chicagoland and happily settling in, was violently interrupted a short six months later by an unanticipated layoff. Out of the blue. No need to relive the drama; it's all there in the BoomerBlix Archives.

What followed was a lesson in Age Discrimination, enhanced by a modern and sophisticated Human Resources torture method--ATS, Applicant Tracking Software--which is designed to screen candidates out. More about that in the future, but I can vouche for the effectiveness of this evil software. Over four hundred applications, yielding exactly four phone interviews...designed to screen candidates out. From those, two actual, face-to-face interviews that dead-ended. Yeah, they figure out how old you are pretty quickly, even following the advice of the Job Placement Advisors. More about that to come, too.

After six painful months, I was defeated.  And panicked.  Then, thanks to Karma and networking, my wonderful friend and colleague, Mike, phoned me about an opportunity.  It involved yet another relocation, which I had been fiercely resisting. (Hello? I lived in Chicagoland: millions of people, a zillion companies. Heck, Boeing just moved its headquarters here..there HAD to be a job for me, right?  You'd think.)

Finances were beyond tight. I'd already paid to move to a smaller apartment, and I had absolutely no more job leads.  Sure, I whined to Mike, tell me about it. 

It's at University of Florida, he started. (Hmmm...aren't those university jobs supposed to be cushy?)  And they really, really need someone with transplant experience. (Check!) Things are in a bit of disarray. (They usually are.) The pay's not great. (Sigh...)

But, I followed through.  Did the ever-complicated online application, spoke with the charming--and desperate--Assistant Director.  They invited me down.  I went.  It was hotter than blazes. I wore my standard interview suit, stockings, and heels. Everyone else was in flip-flops and some version of Southern Summer Casual: shorts, tank tops, cotton skirts.  I was definitely over-dressed. And sweating bullets. My hair went beserk.

The interviews went well...so well, that I had an offer before I left at the end of the day. The good news: they didn't care how old I was. The other news:  clearly, there wasn't a glut of other qualified candidates.

I accepted.

In the month that followed, I packed, arranged shipping, flew down again to find an apartment, and said good-bye to my dream of living near my family, in the area where I had come-of-age, and now wanted to reconnect with; it's called "building community." However, I had to earn a living, and this was the best/only option.  It took four days to drive to Gainesville. Each stop more humid than the last.

I started my new job on August 1, 2011.  It's taken me all this time to find a sense of balance, as well as my sense of humor.  I finally feel the itch to write again.  Yes, it took that long, steadfast readers.

 

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How to Recognize Age Discrimination

Job Search, Week Three: Honey, I Shrunk the Budget

Job Search: "The Company Men"...and Women

Boyfriend and I have a game we play when we watch movie trailers.  At the end of each trailer, we count to three and give it a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down.  If we agree--and most of the time we do, although he's a guy, so he favors the action films--then it goes on our "to see" list. It's fun--give it a try!

 Having already seen most of the Academy Award contenders, the weekend found us buying tickets for "The Company Men."  While it had looked interesting before my layoff--it scored a previous thumbs-up from both of us--it suddenly became timely. And riveting.

It's the story of what happens to people after being laid off.  Ben Affleck plays Bobby, a successful Regional Sales Manager who walks into a meeting one morning, only to find he's out of a job. Given a few months of severance pay and Outplacement assistance, he turns around and heads back home.  He is stunned, but confident that he'll snag a new gig in no time.  After all, he has a strong track record and great experience.  "Highly employable," declares his supportive wife.

Things come apart in bits.  At first, the family continues to live and spend as always.  Bobby goes to Outplacement with an amused attitude. Just a little setback, he assures everyone. Only gradually, as income stops and expenses continue, does the reality sink in.  His car is repossessed, his wife returns to work.  There are weeks spent at an Outplacement cubicle, just trying to get an interview.  When he does get the occasional one, no job offer happens. Always dead ends, with, or without, the much-touted networking.  They sell their home and move in with his parents.  He takes a construction job, working for his brother-in-law.

I tell you all this because the emotions and situations are real.  Hope is soon replaced by pain and panic. Bobby and his colleagues are smart, talented and motivated.  Well-connected, well-networked. But there is no work.  Not just at his former salary, but at any salary.  They lose everything.  One of his co-workers, a man of about 60 years, is told to alter his resume and dye his hair.  "It's going to be rough out there for you," is the frank observation of the career counselor.  In despair, after trying to compete with much younger candidates, he eventually completes suicide.

I found several things especially fascinating:
1.  The scenes involving discussions about which employees would be let go. As Human Resources and Managers review the lists, it goes something like this: "Her husband has a good job, so she'll be okay."  "Not him, he has a son in college."  "She can go--she could be home with her kids."  "Close enough to Social Security, should've planned better."  On and on.  There is one good-hearted executive (played by craggy Tommy Lee Jones) who objects to the subjective method, but doesn't really do anything.  Until he is handed his own pink slip.  But, I had to wonder if this is really how these decisions are made.  No rules?  No criteria?  Just people in a conference room, drinking bottled water, and casually destroying lives?
2.  When executives are sitting in a meeting about cost-cutting, the first budget cuts are staffers. No one at their own level. Not a big surprise, but you never hear any of them say, "Hey, we make plenty.  How about we save a few jobs by giving up our bonuses?" Or "Perhaps there are redundancies in the corner offices?"  Or "Hey, Pete--you're close to retirement.  More time with the grandkids.  How about now?"
3.  The Outplacement was uncanny in its accurate portrayal.  An initial orientation, complete with a pep talk about enthusiasm and attitude. "I will succeed!" chants the group, standing in a circle.  Then, it was off to the bull pen, to crank out resumes and applications, along with the others whose companies had eased any corporate guilt by providing a couple of months of career coaching. 

Finally, Bobby gets a job, at half his previous salary.  It's supposed to be an upbeat ending, because the kind-hearted executive cashes in his stock options to start his own company. Apparently it will be a company brimming with integrity and caring.  It was the only part of the film that didn't ring true.
 

Job Search, Week Three: Honey, I Shrunk the Budget

Today I can file for Unemployment Compensation.  From what I've gathered, the amount will barely cover my COBRA costs, the monthly healthcare expense that, as the Human Resources person happily told me, is a "benefit." It's also Federal law, but she wanted to make it sound like something special,  an offer reserved for only the nicest employees.

Lucky me!  Finally, a chance to capitalize on my tax dollars, by using unemployment insurance to pay for what should be a basic American right.  Only the United States ties healthcare to employment, but that is way beyond the scope of today's Blix.

I've heard that I need to get past my anger and move on.  Interesting comment from Miss Still-Employed-Double-Income.  I should be ecstatic with the opportunity to re-invent myself and to follow my heart.  Thrilled to explore my creative side.  Begin Anew.  Do what I really want.  What a crock.  What I want is my old life back.  My career.

Sorry if I'm not being a jolly good sport about losing my income, knowing I will never again match it, delaying retirement indefinitely, scrapping the idea of my own condo, scaling down to a 600 sq. ft. apartment.  Oh, and my son, the one who went through a windshield when he was sixteen?  Yes, him, the one with the severe facial, and equivalent psychological, scars. He's found a delightful woman and plans to get married this year. Sorry, kid, but you're on your own for the wedding.  

Please don't tell me I need to cut back.  Of course, one of the first things I did was to examine expenses.  I'm a pro at being frugal.  I buy in bulk. I don't waste food, always plan menus around the week's specials, cook at home most nights, buy clothing when it's on sale, etc., etc. This is not rocket science.  And I've done it before.  Other things, that were work-related, are not easy to change.  My job required a smartphone, with a big data package, for which I was reimbursed.  Guess what?  That $150 monthly bill is now mine.  For eighteen more months. Same with the big Internet/LAN line bill.  Both are locked-in rates.  My apartment has an extra room, because I had to have a dedicated space for a home office.  Extra room = extra rent.  Angry?  Not me...why would you think that?!  Why, for only $600 a month, I've got COBRA!

Lest you think I'm insincere, consider this.  In the mid-80's, I went through a particularly contentious divorce. It was summer, and my job as a school nurse did not pay during that time.  My soon-to-be-ex-husband gave me $25 a week to feed four children.  Nearly impossible, even back then.  To make every cent count, I shopped at Aldi Foods.  It was the lowest point of my life, buying just enough to get by.  When it was all over, I swore I would never step foot in another Aldi.  It wasn't so much the warehouse/pack-your-own concept.  The place just felt really, really sad to me.  I swear, despair hung in the air and clung to my clothing.

I had such a visceral reaction that when I made my list of how to cut costs, I couldn't include Aldi.  Too many bad memories.  But...one day, I drove by one, and stopped.  Sat out in the parking lot for a few minutes. Slow, deep breaths.  Then, as they say, I put on my Big Girl Pants, and went in. Is it any different, over 25 years later?  Not really.  But I was in.  I bought some pretzels---it's pretty hard to screw up pretzels.  I've been back twice, even, for bread and fruit.

So, I begin to figure out a new life.  Am I angry?  You bet.  Not only for me, but for all the others who suddenly find themselves without options, and without the ability to help a son celebrate his wedding.

Job Search: The Interview Suit

Raise your hand if you own a traditional suit in black or navy.  (Lawyers, put your hands down. This attire is your equivalent of scrubs for those who work in a hospital.)

Right off, here's my proposal:  Any severance agreement should include sufficient money to buy The Interview Suit. Period. They owe us that much, at least.

I have not owned a traditional--read "conservative"--suit for over seven and a half years. The last one I bought?  To interview for  the job I was just released from.  After I was hired, I donated it to an organization that gives suits to women without resources, so they can try to repeat the process.  The truth is, most of the corporate world has gone to what's called "business casual." Research shows people are more productive when they are comfortable, but not sloppy.

For men: Pin-striped suits, silk ties?  For women: Non-descript blazer and skirt, complete with sensible heels? Not in the world I came from.  I worked the West Coast, trendy, but not stuffy.  Comfortable, but cool. I didn't wear stockings for over a decade.  Loved those styles!

But.  I'm about to embark on the interview circuit now.  And that means I have to be compliant, if I want a prayer of a chance to get a second interview, let alone be chosen.  And there is an entirely different set of rules when it comes to the hiring process.  

Prospective employers never got the memo that they should hire for, say, skills or experience. Nope.  It's still the First Impression that makes or breaks a prospective candidate.  If you believe the research, that means a whopping twenty seconds before the decision is made, before you ever say more than "Nice to meet you."  Also, this apparently includes suppressing any hints of fashion.  Now, I'm not saying that we-who-seek-an-income should show up in jeans and a t-shirt.  But, really...we're not stupid.  We just left the work force.  We actually know how people dress on a daily basis.

 Yet, suddenly we're forced to show up in an outfit that's a cross between a nun and a 1960 airline stewardess.  AND, we, who are unemployed, have to dish out a considerable amount of money to achieve this look.  Ever read "Nickled and Dimed: On (Not) Getting by in America" by Barbara Ehrenreich?  If not, stop reading this and go find it.  Ehrenreich sets out to see what it takes to live on minimum wage in three different employment arenas (Note:  As Alan, who recommended this book to me, said, "You won't ever again leave just one dollar for the hotel maid.")  Anyway, I digress.  What Ehrenreich finds is that people without jobs are expected to buy and wear a dictated type of clothing before earning an income.  

I've played this game before, so off I go, to find a reasonably-priced business suit--including the requisite dull white blouse and sexless tan pantyhose--for the interview that I surely hope lies ahead.  Once I'm at a reputable store, I don't know whether to laugh or cry.  After eliminating anything with the tiniest bit of flair, I find myself staring at expensive suits that I know I will never, ever wear again.  Ever.  Okay, maybe to a funeral.

All the employment websites--even my new favorite, Careerealism.com, have told me that I need a black, navy, or camel (if I'm feeling daring or interviewing at a progressive organization) suit.  And, unless my legs are horribly disfigured, it must be a skirt.  Hello?????  Have we learned nothing from Hilary Rodham Clinton?  Our successful Secretary of State wears pants.  

Here's the scoop for females, straight from a progressive website:

Shoes Wear pumps with a medium-sized heel. Do not wear high, excessively spiky heels or boots. Black, brown, taupe, or navy is fine. Avoid flashy shoes with bright colors like red or glittery gold. No tennis shoes, open toes, or sandals. Flats may be OK for an extremely casual workplace, but low pumps are preferred.

Dresses or Suits In the workshops I teach, I always have at least one woman who says, “I wore pants to the interview and I got the job!” That’s usually the case, these days if you are wearing a nicely tailored pant suit with an attractive blouse, but if you feel comfortable in a skirt and matching jacket, I recommend it!

Hair and Makeup Keep it simple! Don’t allow long or wavy hair to hide your face. Consider having a touch-up color, wave, or trim. Wear lighter or less makeup than usual. Do not apply too much foundation or eye makeup. If you use hair spray, you might consider an unscented brand. Any sort of perfume-like smell from hair spray, body lotions, cologne, or perfume can be disturbing to some interviewers.

There ya go.  Be as neutral as possible.  No hint that you might like color, fashion, or that you actually have a personality.

If this whole job thing doesn't work out, I think I could start a business.  I could just rent business suits, shoes, and accessories to people who are in Full Interview Mode.  No need to invest, just drop by for your black or navy suit.  Heaven knows you won't need it after you're hired.

Job Search, Week Two: Does Loyalty Matter?

If you're like me, you believe there are no coincidences.  As the saying goes, when the student is ready, the teacher appears.  So, you don't bat an eye when a colleague from another part of the country--someone whose friendship would never have been possible, under most circumstances--picks up the phone and calls.  "Hey, check this out.  It's a non-typical career website.  I was listening to NPR, and the founder was on.  I thought of you..."

That's how I learned about Careerealism.com.  Right away, I knew I was in a different world.  The site's slogan is a tip-off: "Because EVERY job is temporary."  Such refreshing honesty.  If only someone had shared this truth with me about thirty years ago.  It might have changed everything about how I viewed my career.  I might not have been so blown away when I got the news about my layoff.

I'll write more about Careerealism in an upcoming Blix.  For now, I want to focus on a single article I found there.  Let us consider the idea of loyalty in the workplace.  Simply put, there is none.  Dawn Rasmussen writes the article about how loyalty is a false concept. Bogus, in fact, when it comes to jobs.  Ouch.  Then again--in all fairness--it seems both employees and employers love the idea of "till death do us part," but like an unstable marriage, both are actually committed to only one thing: Looking out for Number One.  Self-protection, if you will.

On the employee's part, there is the comparison to an unhappy spouse.  The roving eye, looking over seductive want ads.  Fantasies about what it would be like to be with other organizations.  Maybe even a dalliance, sending out a resume or two.  The clandestine interview.  Sometimes, we're the ones to initiate the break-up.

Companies can change, too.  Adopt a new look, like the man going through a mid-life crisis who buys a red sportscar and gets hair plugs.  Experienced employees can suddenly seem frumpy in the redesigned culture.  Out with the old, in with the hip.  Companies can also purge, to save some bucks.  And that "purge" most frequently means living, breathing souls. Complete with mortgages, orthodonia bills, and now, a dead hope for a family vacation.  No big deal.  It's just a head count, after all.

My company, like many, was one which spoke of compassion and caring.  "We take care of each other" was the message.  On one hand, people were encouraged to enjoy vacation, or get education that would improve their careers. On the other hand, staff who traveled frequently were forced onto the cheapest flights, with multiple stops, negating consideration for the personal toll of being away from home.  If you didn't like it, too bad.  It was a sacred cow.  Rasmussen would not be surprised at the dichotomy. Here's the down-and-dirty: "But don’t forget, for even one moment, the workplace is first and foremost a business environment, and your being there is a mutual business decision."

So.  We're not one big, happy family after all?

I bounced this possibility off a couple of colleagues.  Here is the wise response from one:

"It is all so true.  I was just thinking about it today, because although I know all the legal reasons for no authentic communication, the #1 reason is that to them, it's just a job.  Even though it certainly doesn't feel like just a job, and we care about other people like a friend, or family....i.e. caring about each other's families and health issues, etc.  Then, BOOM, it's like scissors to a ribbon, leaving you dangling from the ribbon.  How could someone who 'cared' about you do that???!!!  The lack of financial support is one thing, but the lack of emotional support or friendship feels unconscionable.

 

But, as the website says... employers do, they cut the ribbon, just like that.  I guess our big mistake is falling for the idea of being in a work family, and that includes sometimes giving more than we want, or feels right.  I have known this in my head...but falling into the "we're like family" mode is so seductive, and you really believe that it would be different." 

 

Rasmussen points out that we spend about 40% of our 168-hour week at work. For people like me who have often worked more than 40 hours a week, the job consumed more time than we had for relationships and fun.  Suddenly, loyalty seems a tad over-rated.  Turns out, we're just little cogs in the big wheel of profit.

 

Remember this on your next job interview, when asked the inevitable question about your strengths.  "I'm loyal" might not be the best choice.  

Job Search: The Cold, Hard Facts

Time to get serious.  I've worked every day on getting ready for my next job. Bought my MacPro Book.  Installed my wireless printer.  Cleaned out files, drawers, and shelves.  Made space for what comes next in life.  I believe that's important.

I don't know about you, but I always like to know what I'm up against. Forewarned is forearmed, n'est-ce pas?  While the news is full of stories about the dismal unemployment rate, I needed to find out for myself. Get psyched for the challenge.  I need to know if my tiny flame of hope for a speedy re-entry into the workforce is worth fanning.  I mean, things should be brighter... according to the latest monthly Department of Labor report, the unemployment rate has plummeted to a measly 9%. 

But.  It's not pretty:

• In an article by CNN Money, with the depressing title of "Job blues for gray-haired workers," Chris Isadore reported that all the gains in the unemployment rate have gone to people less than  55 years old.  (Yes! An "older" worker is anyone over 55!)  Historically, all age groups have had similar loss or gains in unemployment rates.
• Although the nationwide unemployment rate of 7.2% for older workers seems to be rosier than the higher national rate, it's likely not accurate.  Older workers are more apt to become discouraged. They simply stop looking for a job, so they "disappear" and don't get calculated into any statistics compiled by the Department of Labor.  
• The longer anyone goes without employment, the more likely he or she is to not get hired.  In May, 2010, 60% of older unemployed workers had been out of work for six months or more. And 43% had been unable to find a job for a year or more.
• Older workers also spend more time seeking work.  The U.S Department of Labor Statistics--the number crunchers for all this data--tells us that older workers (again, 55 and up) are actively hunting down a way to earn money for much longer than younger age groups.  "Nearly half (49.1%) of older workers had been unemployed for for 27 weeks or longer, compared with 28.5% of workers aged 16 to 24."  Even those 25-54, a large age-span, fare better, with 41.3% pounding the pavement for 27 weeks or more.

I could go on with the numbers and percentages, but you get the flavor.

But wait!  There's more!  Those upbeat folks at USA Today--the same ones who bring all the news about how filthy hotels are and how fatigued pilots are--ran a front page article right before my layoff about the need for people over 65 to continue to work.  Titled "Many will need to work past 65--if they can" reporter John Waggoner writes about the income gap for Boomers who either can't collect Social Security benefits or are unable to work because of health or inability to find a job.

Now I kinda regret looking all this up...it's like picking at a scab. Maybe I should forget about "Forewarned is forearmed" and embrace "Ignorance is bliss."

Job Search: The Kindness of Others

"...I know that you have devoted so much of your life to the passion of donation, only to have this passage of time end with so much pain."

 So wrote Maggie. 

For me, "this passage of time" is twenty years.  A career that found me, not one that I ever had a formal plan to pursue.  Some of you know that I worked in donation and transplantation.  A tiny niche of healthcare, with specialized skills that aren't readily transferrable.  It's a field that either one loves or one hates.  If it's for you, then, as we used to say, it gets in your blood.  And you stay with it, always. 

For me, it began when I was working in the Intensive Care Unit.  A hot summer evening. We admitted a 42 year-old woman who had been watching her son play baseball.  Suddenly, she complained of "the worst headache of her life" and collapsed.  This headache is characteristic of a bleed into the brain, always life-threatening.  Treatment was futile, and she was declared brain dead.  Her family was approached to discuss the option of organ donation.  "Of course," said her husband.  "Whatever we can do help others. She would have wanted that."  An organ coordinator--a nurse, like me--came to the hospital to run the entire process.  Six people on the wait list got calls that night, telling them this donor was a match, and that they should prepare for their transplant. I was fascinated. I wanted to be an organ coordinator, too.

So it began.  I started in Chicago, moved to Seattle, then returned for what should have been the rest of my career.  It was challenging work, which suited me.  And it was satisfying.  How many of us get to be the direct link between a tragedy and a miracle?  If you'd have asked me what I did for my job, I would have said, "I save lives. From an untimely death, I help someone get a second chance at life."  This sounds dramatic, but it was true.

Seven years ago, I moved to another area of donation.  Tissue donation isn't as glamorous as organ donation, but is equally important.  Tear your ACL?  Back surgery needed?  Breast reconstruction after a mastectomy?  Possible amputation following trauma or bone cancer?  All are healed and restored by the generous gift of human tissue.  I was thrilled to be part of this new, and ever-changing field of medicine. 

One of the best things about my work?  My colleagues, who often became friends.  Since the news, their kindness and compassion have been a constant comfort.  Nearly all my co-workers have reached out, with words of healing.  While the people who decided my fate will continue to cruise, ski, frequent spas, and decorate their vacation homes--lifestyles uninterrupted--those who shared my world understand, and make every effort to prop me up right now.

Read this, and tell me I haven't been blessed with a wonderful co-worker and dear friend:

"I'm rooting for you.  Remember the story that Anne Lamott recounts in Traveling Mercies about her friend who ends up sitting next to a guy on the plane that works for the Dali Lama? She's asking him why is all this bad stuff happening to her.  And he says to her, when a lot of things start going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born.  And that this 'something' needs for you to be distracted so that it can be born as perfectly as possible.  I believe this is what this distraction is ...  preparing you for the birth of something really beautiful."  

How about this poem?  Only a true friend would know how to touch my heart so well.

WORDS FOR IT
I wish I could take language
And fold it like cool, moist rags.
I would lay words on your forehead
I would wrap words on your wrists.

"There, there," my words would say--
        Or something better.
I would ask them to murmur,
"Hush" and "Shh, shhh, it's all right."
I would ask them to hold you all night.

I wish I could take language
And daub and soothe and cool
Where fever blisters and burns,
Where fever turns yourself against you.

I wish I could take language
And heal the words that were the wounds
You have no name for.
    --Julia Cameron (The Artist's Way)

I know my situation is not unique.  And in this economy, it's not remarkable.  But--as in most significant life events--it does seem to be both when it happens to you.  And what could be more soothing and necessary than the nurturing of those who are close and loving?

Nothing, steadfast readers.  Nothing.

Job Search: Week One, Day One

Monday morning arrived, same as always.  The only thing different was that I didn't go to work.  Not that there wouldn't have been plenty to do; ironically, at the moment of the layoff, I'd been the busier than ever, working 10-12 hours a day.  I had tons of reports and projects that needed attention.  Make that, I would have had tons of reports and projects...I definitely need to shift to past tense.

Boyfriend tried mightily to cheer me up over the weekend.  Dinner in the city, a night at The Palmer House, a visit to the Art Institute.  He knows I love Matisse and Picasso.  We wandered through Millennium Park.  As we stood by "Cloudscape"--affectionately called "The Bean"-- a delightful young German offered to take our picture, with the city reflected behind us.  "Come, stand on the other side, I know." he directed. "You're glad to have this photo."

It all worked pretty well...until I hit the wall on Sunday evening.  "What are your plans for tomorrow?" Boyfriend asked in his most gentle manner.  I looked at him blankly.  No idea, I said.  It was downhill from there.  We were both restless all night, finally giving up and turning on the coffee about 4 a.m.

What to tackle first?  Everything seems important--and urgent--right now.  Yet I looked at the list I've been compiling and set it aside.  In no particular order, here's what I did on Day One:
-considered and decided against watching "Oprah"
-called Apple Support to learn how to reconnect to wireless, post-data transfer
-ate a tuna salad sandwich
-ate leftover pasta with lemon-garlic shrimp
-packed two big boxes of files to ship to the corporate office
-started my income tax
-sold some stock to pay for the MacPro Book
-discovered my hair was long enough to pull into a short ponytail
-checked my Monster.com account
-considered and decided against moving to Paris
-went into a panic when I couldn't find my Kindle
-relaxed when I did find it
-read a chapter of "The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest" on the Kindle
-did a search for jobs at two nearby hospitals
-took a video of the squirrel who keeps coming on the balcony
-sent the video to Boyfriend, who has named the squirrel "Duke"
-sifted through the folders on my desk
-considered and decided against going to a Spinning class
-did a load of laundry instead

You get the idea.  My mind is pretty scattered right now.  The feeling is nearly identical to what I experienced when I became a widow.  Same physical symptoms, same inability to sleep, same restlessness, same sense of hopelessness.  The attention span of a goldfish.  Call it grief.

The other interesting thing is that I've had the same dream every night since the layoff.  In the dream, I return home and suddenly realize that I've lost my purse.  I start to panic because I need to go somewhere, but don't have my driver's license.  Now, it doesn't take Freud to interpret this one.  For women, our purses hold our identity.  Purses tell the world who we are.  We carry everything in them, from our legal proof of identification to our favorite shade of lipstick. Photos. Phones. Keys to any door that is important. Even the purse style says something about us.  In my dream, it has been stolen. Snatched away.  And I'm shocked to discover this.

So, the purse symbolizes my career.  My identity.  How am I going to be able to prove who I am?