The point here is that there is no point. I'm writing an account of
my job loss mostly as a way to comfort myself, since I used to be a
working writer and now I'm not. Secondarily, it's a way to write the
truth about myself and my feelings; as anyone who's involved in a
focused job search will tell you, writing résumés and letters all
day can make you feel like a walking, talking career objective,
spitting out heavy, action verbs like "facilitate" and "coordinate"
and putting a positive spin on every experience you've ever had.
You wield a golden shovel. Time for a truth break.
So while this is mostly therapeutic for me, I'm sharing because these
things happen to everyone, especially young people, who rarely have a
voice--even a whiny one--in the great downsizing debates. As with
many things, we're not supposed to care. Conventional wisdom dictates
that young professionals have no loyalty, that they crave flexibility,
that they profit from an unstable workforce and are happy to work as
temps, contractors, and consultants. It's a gross and not very
accurate generalization from which only employers benefit. They're
absolved of any responsibility to compensate you fairly for your labor,
while they pile on more work, reduce or cut off benefits, and,
ironically, demand more devotion than ever before. They're taking
advantage of you because you have less knowledge about the world and
lower expectations. Living from month to month is your idea of success.
You're excited by restaurants with real silverware and nondisposable
napkins. Now imagine yourself with this lifestyle at age 40. Get
used to the idea. But never like it.
Think you have bargaining power? Read a thirty-page severance
agreement--like mine--and disabuse yourself of that idea. A severance
agreement is like legal suttee, the Indian custom of burning a widow
alive on her husband's pyre, along with the rest of his property.
If you don't jump on willingly, signing away your right to sue, reveal
trade secrets, or even speak ill or your former employers, you'll be
thrown on. Think you can jump merrily from job to job, building your
skills? Forget it. Everything you did, said, wrote, or thought
belongs to the company, especially if your employment was contingent
on a confidentiality agreement, which mine was. You might as well
pack up and leave your industry, rather than risk a nuisance lawsuit
(designed to bankrupt you) if you sign up with a competitor. Best
of all, if I sign my agreement, I get a month's free health care and
almost a thousand bucks! What under-30 person doesn't have student
loans, escalating rent, and a total lack of foresight? You can't
afford not to take that money, but you're shooting yourself in the
foot if you do.
My parents' generation took it for granted that they had a right to at
least TRY to make a comfortable living, to start families, to enjoy
time off every year so we could take those nauseating car trips to
Wyoming. Hard work and diligence paid off back then. These days, it
doesn't seem much to matter how hard you work or how talented (or
educated) you are, and that goes for everybody. And I accept that.
What I resent is being told that I like it this way. I don't.
I'm pissed. I'm not a fifty-year-old middle manager, but I have a
right to be angry that my services are no longer needed.
So that's all I have to say about my diary. I can't promise great
insights or nonstop excitement. In fact, I can promise a lot of
addle-brained burblings and boredom (that's unemployment for you).
But these experiences are mine to disclose freely, and I like that.
