One More Time

I read the email subject line and immediately my stomach rumbled. “Editorial assignments changing,” it said. Let’s talk over the phone, the text of the email said. You don’t go through two layoffs without knowing what the endgame will be.

 

To be honest, I’d been anticipating the email for quite some time, ever since the company offshored some of their content creation to the Philippines. (I kid you not.) Then, they slashed my hours. Then, the criticism of my copyediting (mistakes all the copy editors made and worse, but somehow I was singled out). Then came the near fatal blow — I was assigned busy-work duties more suitable for an intern. So, yeah, I knew the gig was soon up. But I figured I’d string it along as long as I could for the money. Always for the money.

So when I was told my editing duties would be taken over by a computer program (I kid you not), I wasn’t surprised. The boss offered me writing assignments…for extremely low pay and very high volume (100 press release rewrites per week for $3 each). If I could write that fast (I don’t), I couldn’t do that and my other content marketing jobs (for higher pay). So I had to refuse. After the way I was treated why would I want to work for that shabby outfit anymore? It wasn’t just me who thought my treatment was undeserved; the former editor (she quit, smart lady) I worked closely with wrote that I “shouldn’t have been treated that way.” I’m not saying I didn’t make mistakes, but I was punished more harshly for them.

So once again, I get booted from a job. Albeit a freelance, part-time job, but a layoff by any other name.

I worked for this company for nearly two years, always willing to work extra hours when asked. (And where did that get me?) I liked getting paid weekly, though. With my other freelance jobs more tentative and less steady, I knew I’d have money in my bank account to grocery shop every Friday. Now? Well, I can only hope my other two freelance jobs can make up the difference. I’m not so sure.

It also gave the sometimes unstructured life of a freelancer a semblance of structure: writing in the morning, editing in the afternoon. Now, that's gone, too.

But I don’t feel angry. I feel sad, and nostalgic, anxious, worried about my ever-dwindling financial stability. It’s also a bitter reminder of my other two layoffs and the emotional trauma I apparently have yet to recover from. I never had a deep reservoir of self-confidence, but what little there ever was is completely gone now. Forever, I think.

It’s also a reminder of the impermanence of life. Jobs, relationships…all fleeting and gone in an instant and beyond our control. Our lives totter on sand, not steel, yet we cling to the illusion of permanence as a shield against Bad Things Happening. It doesn’t work that way. Bad things happen anyway, and we clump through the dark to find another path.

We try to grab hold of things, people, jobs, yet are shocked when those objects turn out to be nothing more than projections of our own fear of loss. They’re really just 3-D holograms we can never touch or fully possess. We never really had them, so why should we be surprised when they are gone?

Never Can Say Goodbye

The news was not unexpected. Yet what the intellect knows, the hearts does not want to believe. We cling to hope like a buoy in a sea storm. It won’t happen, it won’t happen…

“Your cousin died this morning,” the gravelly, exhausted voice said over the phone.

I knew this day was coming; I just didn’t want to believe. My dear cousin had fought bravely

for 12 years against a rare cancer that takes the life of most sufferers within a year. A vibrant, vocal (she told it to you straight, no filters, but always from a place of love), stunningly beautiful woman, she fiercely loved her family and friends. She will be greatly missed. The world is dimmer today without her, as we, those who loved her, stumble through the overcast and our sadness without a lady we’ve known since our earliest remembrances. I went to her funeral, but the real grief begins now.

Another lady I’ve known for many years is now gone from my life, too. We worked together at my former former workplace. She worked as the secretary to the company president; I, an editor. We struck up a work friendship that blossomed into a real friendship when, after her retirement, she moved to a town close to me.

We’d get together on the weekends, seeing a movie (we loved James Bond), shopping at nearby mall (she loved Macys as much as I do), and having lunch at pub restaurant where we’d sip Irish Coffees after the meal. We’d chat about family, work, life — and clothes.

In recent years, her back pain worsened, and she began to walk with a cane. She’d talk openly about selling her condo and moving closer to her daughter in Connecticut. A widow, living on her own was becoming increasingly difficult. Yet once again, I didn’t want to believe she’d actually leave.

The last time we talked, she said she didn’t feel up to getting together. That’s okay, I replied, I just want you to know you are well. Call me when you are able and we’ll have our Irish Coffees.

No call came. I sent her a Christmas card with a gift card in it. She sent back a Christmas card, wishing me health and happiness in the New Year. That was it.

Once the hubbub of the holidays ended, I called her number. It was disconnected. Shocked, I rushed to my computer, and after a quick Google search, saw her condo was — and still is — up for sale.

I mailed a letter to her old address, hoping it would be forwarded to wherever she is. The letter was not returned to me, but I also received no reply from her.

What happened? Where is she? Is she well? I don’t have the answers. I contacted the son of the gentleman she worked for, thinking perhaps he knew her location. He said his father would get back to him. I made it clear that if she doesn’t want to contact me, that’s fine. I just want to know she is safe and healthy. Still no word…

Now, she, too, is gone. Why didn't she tell me she was leaving?

As I process these losses, I realize that my career is also gone. Something that has been part of my life for so long, my ability to support myself, has drifted away like wisps of dandelions in the wind. I try to grab it back, but it eludes my grasp.

No one will hire me, and freelance gigs are drying up. Just this week I was informed one publication is going through a “reorganization” (translation: we’re laying off freelancers). I was banished from another job for reasons still unclear.

Yet, I know this is merely the ebb and flow of life, like ocean waves lapping to and fro on a sandy shore. What was once there, so visible and solid, suddenly disappears. Good times zigzag with bad times. Life is a series of transitions, some good, some not so good. Change is never easy, but we endure. We lose jobs; we find (we hope) new jobs. People are in our lives and then they leave.

We knit their memories in our minds. Despite the sadness pressing on our hearts, we move forward. We put one foot in front the other and keep walking — and hoping. Always hoping.

Just don’t ask me to say goodbye.