Downsizing

Monday, October 26th started out just about the same as every other Monday had for the last several years. I anticipated a stressful workweek ahead. My company's annual sales push was winding down, and I needed to follow up with customers to try to close deals I had been working on and remind them to place their orders on time. I sent some emails and made a couple of calls to help get some of these deals across the finish line.

I received a notification that my manager had requested a meeting with me at 9:30. The caption read, "Catch Up." This made sense. I had been on vacation the previous week and I figured she probably wanted to see where these deals stood and what my plans were for getting orders completed before the upcoming deadline. As soon as I logged in to the meeting, I knew something was wrong.

The first thing that I noticed was that there was a third person in the meeting. That person was an HR rep. I was quickly told that this was to be my last day of employment for the company, a place I had worked for over 15 years.

They assured me that it was not due to any performance issues. It was about cutting costs, and I was selected due to territory overlaps. They asked me for my personal email so that they could send me a Separation Agreement. This would lay out things like severance and timelines for benefits. They said that they appreciated my contributions to the company over the years. I asked about my customers and whether I should reach out to them since there were deals still in place. The HR rep said that as of the end of the conversation, I was no longer employed by the company so there was no need for me to contact my former customers. The conversation ended, and I was unemployed.

I wish that I could say exactly what I was feeling at that moment, but I didn't really feel anything at first. I stared at my computer monitor in silence. It was bizarre. The stuff that had been dominating my thoughts and attention 15 minutes earlier suddenly didn't matter. The routines and rhythms of the past decade and a half no longer existed. I was numb. It seemed surreal, like I would wake up and realize it had all been a dream.

The numbness didn't last. Quickly, what had happened hit me, and that numbness became anger. My brain started listing a thousand reasons why letting me go was not only a catastrophic mistake by my former employer but also completely unfair. "How dare they!" "That place is going down in flames, and I will be only too happy to toast marshmallows at the bonfire!"

Then I started to feel sad. I had customers that I had worked with for years, building trust and confidence, only to see that disappear without even having a chance to tell them why. In a weird way, this job had become a part of my identity. I was J___ from _____. Now I wasn't anymore. It was not my dream job and
I admit that I complained about it as much as the next guy, but not having it anymore felt like a loss.

(Don't worry. I'm not going to take you on a journey through the "7 Stages of Grief.")

One thing I did not feel was panic. The company provided severance, and I am not in danger of an imminent financial collapse. But that does not mean that anxiety has taken a vacation. The idea of having to start over at my age feels distressing, to say the least. My resume is short on formal credentials, and my work experience basically comes down to preaching and sales. (A lot of crossover in those fields.) It's been a hot minute since I had to look for a job, and the thought of doing that is scary. I'm not desperate, so I can be a bit picky to start. One might think this would ease my mind, but it hasn't.

So here I sit, an old Gen-X, waiting for my first meeting with my Gen-Z career coach. The saying goes that when God closes a door, He opens a window. Here's hoping my window doesn't have a screen on it.