I was fired this past week. Summarily let go. And it’s ironic, because on so many levels, my life is coming along so very…beautifully! My writing feels good and the creative outlet is awesome; I have a very deep connection with someone who came back into my life a few years ago and we are rediscovering the kismet that seems to keep bringing us back into each other’s lives. I’m blooming with good health and joie de vivre and feel better than I ever have. My family is thriving and doing well; and my friends are happy and prospering on various levels. Life is good. The only disconnect was my career. It has been a rollercoaster ride of feast and famine.
I knew things weren’t going well at my current job, for a number of reasons. Not for a lack of trying. I’m the consummate professional, never a slacker, a hard-worker and my clients loved me. At times, I let my career define me. But there was a decision making methodology with the type of client I was working with that didn’t jive well with my for-profit experience and I wasn’t, on the whole, very happy.
In the end, I was told it was a “business decision.” I didn’t cry, I remained stoic and cool. I was even rational enough not to sign the document they presented me so I could later review it dispassionately and with a clear head.
But inside I was shaking. The tears simmered on the inside of my eyelids. I was both furious and scared. To add insult to injury, the president, to whom I had reported in this small company for four years, didn’t even venture out of her office to wish me well or acknowledge my leaving. It was like a slap in the face. I have worked for a number of spectacular managers in my long sales career and held her in the highest esteem. I lost a large measure of respect for her that day.
I know it wasn’t an easy task for my sales director or especially the VP. They were both very professional and even kind.
Driving home I told myself how I’d be saving money not making the long, daily commute. That it was serendipitous that my resume was up to date and ready to be submitted to the right job. That I had marvelous references. Then I thought of calling my mother. Instead, I called P. and left him a voicemail. The sound of his voice almost made me cry. But I resolutely pulled my shoulders back and cleared my throat. And continued the long drive home.
Once I arrived home, I paced my house endlessly. I had so much pent up energy. I took call after call, making plans, reviewing my options, getting advice.
I knew I’d be fine, I always land on my feet (ok, I’ve repeated that line a hundred times since that afternoon). But I was still reeling. I needed a good cry. I thought it would hurt, that my eyes would swell and it would actually ache. I don’t like failing, I’m not good at it.
It struck me how bloody cold I was. Freezing. I was frozen to the core. I turned up the heat and ignited the gas logs in the fireplace. Pulled on a sweatshirt. I just couldn’t seem to get warm. I hunkered down on the couch and drew up the down comforter about me. Suddenly, I was very tired. The tears pricked my eyes.
I received some good advice from P. today. Take a few days, regain your equilibrium, get your bearing and then figure out what it is you want to do.
I want to write.
But that doesn’t pay the mortgage.
I’m a damned good sales person, dammit.
I look at my face in the mirror this morning and I’m amazed at what a difference a few days makes. I no longer look haggard and worried. I look and feel…lighter. I firmly believe that how you react to a situation will define its reality. I will not look at this as a failure but as an exciting new opportunity. I will move on and not look back. I don’t even harbor anyone any ill will, I’ve thought about it and it was meant to be, it wasn’t a good fit. I even wish my former colleagues well.
I’m anxious to see what the next chapter brings. Even a bit excited.
I’m ready, bring it on.