A Torn Leaf

I have lived through interesting times more than once in my life, and I seem to be pulling out of the most recent iteration. Last spring I lost my job, the one I counted on for health insurance and retirement benefits, the one that covered my mortgage payment, the one that fed my kids. My employer was heading in new directions, and I didn't seem to be a match for any of them. The good news was that I'd always been a saver, and I was vested; in other words, I wasn't broke.

Image by Teece Aronin

What followed were the tough adjustments you might imagine one would experience after something like that, but some great things came, too. I had experience as a resume writer and career coach, so I knew my skills, knew how to articulate and market them and could craft my own resume. I had never lost my passion for that work, so it wasn't long before I was networking in that direction and returning to my roots of writing resumes and coaching people on their next steps. 

Another benefit of that work experience was that I knew what to expect emotionally, and the words I once used to comfort, encourage and empower unemployed people came wafting back to save me. I was relieved to find the words helped, and that I hadn't been feeding people a lot of patronizing poo back in those days. 

I became a list-maker. I made lists of things that would keep me sane. One was a list of things to remember when I wasn't feeling strong; the other was a list of things to look forward to once the kids and I were back on our feet.

Currently, the first list looks like this:

• You actually have a normal life and a bright future.
• You know what to do and are wise; any mistakes you make are human and understandable.
• You're not unemployed; you're self-employed, looking for a great new opportunity, and building a new business.
• When you feel down you should clean your room, buy blankets, buy towels, buy good winter clothes, buy boots, buy silverware, clean the kitchen, read something informative, read sappy novels, remove one obstacle, set a reward, go for a walk, go for a drive, review your lists for when you're on your feet.

My lists for when the finances are better are of things that probably wouldn't cheer up anybody but me, like replacing the flower boxes on the house and painting the front door and the shutters. 

As to my first list, I don't advocate spending as a means of self-medicating. It just happened that we needed more blankets, we needed more silverware and we needed more towels. I wanted to know that although a storm was coming, we had everything we needed to stay warm and dry and feel safe. I wanted to know that we could even go out and play in that storm. I shopped for most of those things at thrift stores. My motto: You scratch my back, Goodwill, and I'll scratch yours.

One thing about storms, though, is that they take little pieces of you with them; a few hairs from your head, a few skin cells off your face, a few beliefs you once held sacred. I choose to look at it this way, that it's less of me to take care of, to fuss over, or to think about. It's less ego to get in the way. I tell myself that each storm leaves me a little more streamlined. And I remind myself that whatever has weathered a storm has a beauty the untouched and pristine among us just can't have.

Like a torn leaf or a chipped demitasse.