Ba-Bye

As much as I try to remain positive about life, sometimes it really gets the better of me. And while I definitely realize that I am not alone in this observation, as with anything, it doesn’t really register until it happens to you. Losing your job is one of those things that, in the grand scheme of life, of the universe, is truly very insignificant. And yet, when it does happen, especially when it’s a job that you put a lot of yourself into, it is a profoundly disheartening experience. It’s like losing a little piece of your identity. For years, you are Joe Smith, Accountant for Bear Stearns, or Jane Jackson, Advertisting Executive at Vogue and you even have a little card to prove it.

There is a strange comforting feeling that comes with this label, this title that gives you a slightly more distinct place in the world. While the feeling is nothing more than a feeling because when it comes down to it, you are still just a person with all the same needs and desires as everyone other person out there, it's still hard to part with. And yes, that label is just an arbitrary amalgam of words designed to make you feel like you have achieved more than that guy whose card has the word “assistant” on it and even though I know all of this and I reaffirm my confidence with this rationale almost hourly, I still have to acknowledge that there is a bit of my identity that has been stripped away and that I feel a little bit lost and unsure of my place in the world.

If I’m being honest, and I usually am, I didn’t truly grasp how affected I was until my final day in the office. I spent the entire day grumbling at the annoying task of packing my files and throwing away unnecessary crap that had accumulated over the past three and half years. It wasn’t until the very end of the day when the cleaning lady walked into my office around 7 like she does every day and saw the boxes that I felt any sort of emotion. “Where are you going?” she asked. I was caught off guard by the mysterious frog that had somehow lodged itself in my throat. The look on her face was that of abject devastation. I had no idea that the cleaning lady cared about me that much. I mean, I definitely have the messiest trash can in the entire office with all those yogurt lids and diet soda cans flung in there between magazines (that I should really have been recycling but never got up the motivation to take on that battle with the office manager), so her sad face really threw me off and my answer was a bit tearful.

And then my husband, who has stepped foot in my office maybe twice in three years, arrived with a hand cart and a smile and helped me load up my boxes. I waved bye to the cleaning lady and waited for the elevator and when we arrived in the lobby was thrown off once again when the night doorman ran over to me and shook my hand and told me he was so sorry to see me leave- what was I going to do next? Would I move to LA? Who was going to champion those difficult independent films in my place? It was too much. I hugged the guy and got into Tim’s van and pretty much bawled the whole way home. For three years, I had affected people’s lives and it wasn’t about having a job or not having a job, it was about being alive and carving out a soulful existence. While it ultimately added up to what? I’m not sure. In terms of my career, I feel disappointed and sad, but we're talking about life, and if these people were any indication, I grew as a person and I touched the people around me. It's a shame, though, that I never really knew how much they meant to me, how much it all meant to me, until it was taken away.