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The Practice of Losing My Job

In November, I survived the first round of layoffs. To celebrate, I joined my coworkers at a Mexican restaurant for lunch. We filled a big table and most of us are under thirty, so the waiter served us free Tequila shots. I remember the way we sloshed them as we raised our toasts: “To being employed!” “To the morning commute!” “To paychecks!” And how good that bite of sour lime tasted.

But soon being employed became a sour experience. Over the four months that followed, I watched as everything I loved about my job dissolved under budget cuts and emergency survival strategies. The morning walk from the subway to the office was marked by dread, and so were the endless hours filled with less and less to do.

By February, there were clear signs that there would be another layoff. No one could talk about it – it was the great unbroachable subject. But in our own way each of us got busy reading interview books, polishing our resumes, building our networks on LinkedIn, and attending industry events to schmooze. I got busy inventing one livelihood project after another and developed the habit of getting up at 5am to whip out proposals before work.

The day the ax fell, I actually was not at work; I had called in sick. When I woke from a nap, I had a voicemail from the president of our division. My first thought was that I was in trouble, which made me really nervous. Somehow being in trouble with the president was worse than getting laid off. So rather than calling him back, I cleaned and filled offering bowls with fresh water, lit the shrine, and opened my practice. I was deeply engrossed when my phone rang. According to the caller ID, it was coming from the office.

With the feeling of the lineage’s support behind me, I answered it. The moment the caller identified himself, I knew what was happening. Human Resources was on the phone apologizing to me for having to deliver the news this way, saying that it had nothing to do with my performance and it was more a reflection of the company’s health. Or ill-health.

My whole group was let go, including my boss. Immediately, I grieved for her and for not being there with everyone. One thing about my company that kept me going through thick and thin was that I loved the people. Maybe it was because of my shock and distraction, but I actually thanked the HR guy. I doubt anyone ever thanked an HR person for laying her off before.

I hung up and imagined the mayhem that must have occurred at the office. I knew there had to have been tears, hugs, promises made, goodbyes said. And I missed all of it. That was almost worse than getting laid off. With everyone in my mind, I returned to the cushion and finished my practice. As I snuffed the shrine candles, I felt the light of one aspect of my life go out forever.

My father is a longtime corporate survivor, and when I told him what happened, he said I had just been initiated. I hope I never know what upside-down club he was referring to, but he also said, “Congratulations. A new door in your life just opened.”

A new door. But what is on the other side?

I thought I knew. I hit the ground running, as we say, and got busy creating what I thought my future should be. I worked on proposals, traveled across the country, had meetings and conference calls, and scheduled myself to exhaustion. Finally, as I was returning home and the plane was descending, my ears plugged up. Even when the cabin door was opened, I still had only half my hearing. And for the next four days too.

Down I went. Medication for the virus put me to sleep and I was unconscious for two days. From one extreme to the other. And as I emerged, the message was clear in things people said and the feeling in my heart: slow down, create some space, and do this mindfully.

That’s where I am now, inviting space into my mind, life, and livelihood. I’m practicing a lot, noticing what comes up, and my impulse to act is slowing down. My favorite contemplation, courtesy of Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche, is to ponder how I can engage in hard work without planning. So far the only thing that has struck me is that planning makes the results finite, limited by my expectations. Whereas space, awareness, and spontaneity have infinite possibility.

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Do you have a story to tell? Because most of us have been personally touched by economic strain, the Shambhala Times is offering the space for you to share your story. We want to hear what has happened in your life and how you are meeting the challenge. This is an opportunity to gather together and share experience because all of us are affected, and no one has easy solutions.

Email your story to me at [email protected]