What now?

A few weeks ago I learned that my large company was being purchased by a larger (?) company. What bothered me most, at the time, was that it was posted on the internet before the employees were told.  Then my second thought was "I wonder how big my severance package will be."
I have worked for this company for 8 years (today) and have, mostly, enjoyed it.  I've been in the same industry for 14 1/2 years and while it isn't brain science, nor is it even close to being rocket surgery, it does provide a good income and this company offers amazing benefits.
But now faced with the high probability that within the year I will be unemployed I find myself asking, "What now?"
Scenario 1: The buyout doesn't go through.  And I can continue to work for the same company that I have committed to longer than any relationship in my life. (Unlikely)
Scenario 2: The buyout goes through and the new company retains my services. And I remain employed with a salary that will (hopefully) pay as well, if not better, than my current position. (Even more unlikely)
Scenario 3: I can take advantage of not only a FAT severance package but also a retention bonus which the company is currently preparing. (Oh and PS...unemployment benefits.) But I wouldn't be employed and I like the thought of a steady paycheck.

Honestly, Scenario 3 is probably the one that will prevail, and in my head I'm somewhat ok with it.  My heart is following along slowly.  There have been a few moments in which I have had a near panic attack which came complete with an almost meltdown.

The thought of being jobless in this state, in this economy, isn't the most comforting, warm-fuzzy, feeling, but there is something that is best described as a spark of, of, of...I'm not sure what....dare I say excitement?

Some of my peers and colleagues are working as if they are "interviewing for their job" and that can mindset has caused a lot of posturing and peacocking and there's me, just rolling my eyes.  While those of us that are customer facing and on the front line have a bit higher chance of getting a job offer with the enemy new company, those who are currently making decisions are really causing a lot of turmoil as they throw 'URGENT", "CRITICAL", "BIGGER THAN BIG", projects, processes, compliance driven metrics at those of us on the front line.  THIS causes stress, lots and lots of pimple inducing stress. This stress makes me question whether or not I can hang out long enough to take advantage of Scenario 3.

This is where I admit that Scenario 3 is my FAVORITE!  "Here's a FATTY CHECK...ENJOY YOUR SUMMER!"  And I garden, and write, and stare at the ocean and my g-baby for hours on end.  I workout. and organize every closet and drawer in my house. I read all the books that are collecting dust on several bookshelves scattered throughout the house.  I spend time on some small business that was born during my months of waiting for the FATTY CHECK and it blossoms like the flowers I will lovingly tend in the gorgeous hanging baskets I will have created to hang on my front porch that I will spend hours sitting on sipping a cool cocktail.

And THEN the reality tv show in my head changes channel and I'm faced with an HDTV view of a car payment, an electric bill, a house payment, and a handful of other monthly reminders that I'm unemployed and that the FATTY CHECK is losing weight on a daily basis.

Here's the real REALITY: My shelf life in my current role is about to expire.  It doesn't inspire me or feed my soul.  It's irritating and unexciting and about as challenging as beating the "robot" on POGO SCRABBLE. BUT because I live in this state and am directly affected by this economy, because I don't have my degree, and because I'm no longer 25 and naive, I work really hard and am extremely committed to doing my job well each and every day so that I can take advantage of Scenario 3, instead of being handed my walking papers without so much as a High-5. I have put my resume out there and I have interviewed with other companies. But I haven't put the energy behind those efforts that I will need to when the time comes to pay those bills.

This event is the kick-in-the-ass that I need to go FIND MY BLISS.  And it isn't in the industry, or at least in the same role, that I currently work in.  It's more GREEN. It's more community oriented. It's more me than being a corporate clone.

But for now, I work hard. I'm more deliberate in how I spend, and more importantly, in how I save. I'm attempting to pay things down and not incur more debt. There goes the new car I was beginning to shop for. I buff up my resume and begin to think of small ways I can increase my income without getting a second "job". I try not to worry because what good is it to feed THAT beast any energy?

So as I look at the horizon I just ask myself, daily: WHAT NOW?

Recycling: Doing my part.

I recycle anything I possibly can.  I take leftover paint to the recycling depot. I compost every scrap of food possible. I sort bottles and cans and cardboard. I donate usable clothing and books and household products to a local organization who helps families in transition. I love to re-purpose items with a splash of paint and some TLC.
But I can no longer wrap my head or heart around one type of recycling: Recycling OLD boyfriends. Or rather EX-boyfriends. After all they are EX for a reason. Some have a myriad of reasons.

The most recent EX, someone I had been friends with for a decade, was to be the "last" boyfriend. Never to be my "husband", I was ok with that. Marriage isn't a necessity for me any longer.  We fell in love under odd circumstances and it felt right.

I was happy. He was happy.

We shared a home. Got a puppy. Garden. Dreamed. Talked. Cooked. Laughed. And loved.  We would spend hours playing Scrabble, and although he has a higher IQ, I won more games than he ever could have dreamed of winning.

We were going to buy a small farm and grow lettuce.  We shopped for "canned ham" trailers, and wandered the beach for hours digging for agates and sea glass.

He loved cars, vintage and new. I just wanted my car to run. We bought a Jeep together and drove around with the top down and a mad mix of Paolo Nutini, John Mayer, Jason Mraz, and so many others creating the soundtrack of our life.

I felt safe and secure with him. I trusted that he would not cheat or lie. He was the "ONE".

And then he wasn't.

It wasn't an overnight thing. I can tell you what the catalyst was for the dissolution of our relationship, love, home, life. And I can tell you when it began.

And I'm saddened by the fact that I know both of these moments. Mostly I'm saddened that although I watched a perfect-for-me life slip further and further from my grasp and that I can tell you, to the day, when it all started to go south, I didn't do anything about it. Or I wasn't strong enough to. Maybe that's it.

I watched as he packed his things. I told him he couldn't wait until "tomorrow" to leave my house, our home. We fought. I cried. He yelled at me. I got angry.

Then it all stopped. The hurt. The pain. The sadness. The hope. The desire.  It all stopped.  I did something I never had done at the end of any relationship before: I closed my heart.  Standing in my kitchen, watching him do the one thing that was the breaking point for me, I knew that I would never win the fight against his demons.  So I did what I had to do. I made the very deliberate choice to close my heart.

The tears stopped. I no longer yelled. I can't remember if I was breathing. But I know the intimate feeling of being dead. I didn't experience any feeling at all. I was beyond numb. I was dead.

Only when the door closed and the car pulled away did I allow myself to inhale...and then....exhale.

I still wouldn't allow myself to feel. I just did what any good Virgo would do: I got to work. I stripped the bed and put away the breakfast dishes. I straightened the living room and mopped the floor.

The next day I had a moment where I thought if he would just fix the ONE thing we would work it out. But I never allowed myself to express those words.

In the past I had recycled relationships beyond their life expectancy. And it did me no good at all.  That type of recycling is NOT good for the planet of my emotional, mental, and physical well-being. There are reasons that breakups happen and typically you break up again, for not only those initial reasons, but for a multitude of others.

At 47 years old, I didn't want to recycle people through my life any longer.

Ultimately the phone calls stopped.  I wanted to be his friend, but I couldn't be active in his life.

I moved on with life.  Still not feeling. Not where he was concerned. It bled over into other aspects of my life. I shut myself down. I worked. A lot. Too much. I spent hours watching my beloved garden die and not caring enough to do anything about it. I practiced reading multiple magazines and books and never getting anywhere with any printed material, except to send them home with people or donate them to a good cause, or put them in the large green and yellow recycling cart and watch the matching green and yellow truck haul them off, for their next life. As a tire, or a basket, or whatever they do with old magazines and newspapers.

I loved the people closest to me from a distance.

After my last verbal communication with my ex, he got a new cell phone number (strange how he had to do that, once I removed him from my account). I sent him a birthday email. I got no reply on my birthday 2 weeks later. I recycled the last 6 months of our life together in my head and knew I had made the right decision.

My heart never opened. About two months after our last communication a strange number showed on my caller id. It was late enough in the evening that I knew it was him, even without knowing it was him.  There was no message. (Another sign it was him.)  About 3 weeks later another phone call with no message.  Two weeks after that a text message.  Confirmed. It was his new phone number. 

Small talk ensued.  I would sometimes not answer his texts. I had nothing to say. I allowed my cold-dead heart to beat with almost a venom like substance.

Winter claimed my garden and what was left of any emotion in me. It became very dark in my world. I buried myself in work and reality tv.

The holidays, NOT my favorite time of year, came and went.

The first crocus poked its purple head through the debris left from the prior summer. Crocuses show me there is hope of a spring, a rebirth. And along with the frost on the rooftop of my neighbors house, my cold-dead heart started to thaw.

The text messages increased, although I refused to speak voice-to-voice to him.

We made arrangements to see each other.

I spent the morning frantically cleaning the house, and making myself look as incredible as I possibly could. Casual, but done. Good hair, mascara, and a cute-without-trying-to-look-cute outfit.  (Looking good IS the best revenge after all!)
And then he was there, on my doorstep.  And for a moment after the awkward hug and the perfunctory conversation about the dogs and work and family, I thought, MAYBE....Maybe I should try to recycle this.

But then the reality that somethings haven't and never will change slapped me in the face. The catalyst for our breakup was still a part of his life.

After he left, a few hours, a grocery store visit, and a gardenburger later, I took the junk mail, empty cereal box, and the prior nights empty wine bottle out to the recycling container. The lid closed with a bang, shutting the remnants of the romantic relationship in with the empty can that once held black beans, and the egg carton, and the cardboard back to some packaging.

I went inside and read a magazine from cover to cover.

Friends: Real vs "Real"

I made a "new" friend today.  His name is Zach. We know at least 1 person in common.  We "met" through this person, who happens to be my BFF. They worked together at a company that I used to work for. Interestingly enough Zach is also "friends" with someone I used to work with at the company I currently work for. I only "knew" this person through email, but we are also "friends".

Are you keeping up with this?

It's the newest game: 6-degrees of Facebook separation.

Zach is someone I could see myself actually being friends with, in REAL life.

It all started because the other night he made a comment about a comment my BFF posted regarding a line from GLEE.  My BFF and I watch the same show and write back and forth. And since the Bachelor(ette) isn't on, and that train wreck of a spin-off, the Hook-up and Cry About It show is over, and Bret Michaels show is on at different times, GLEE is "our" show.

Onward.

If you watch the show you might notice that there is typically one or two really well written and delivered lines that deserve posting.  This week's Honorable Quote was, "I'm everybody's secret Santa!" BFF posted it. I commented. Zach commented. But then Zach stopped posting. I thought maybe we skurred him off. 

Fast forward a couple of days until NOW, when my BFF posts something and Zach and I comment at the same time.  (I'm pretty certain he is stalking me at this point.) One thing leads to another and Zach and I hi-jack my BFF's page and then the next thing I know I'm getting a "friend" request from Zach. I accept. 

He who dies with the most FB friends WINS!  Or their Farmville crops grow or die or a cow gets stranded in their daisy crop or something.

Anywhoodles, Zach and I start emailing back and forth about our respective companies, the General Public (GP's) and Vodka.  The line "push comes to bitch slap" is written by me and our friendship is solidified.

I have no idea if I will ever have the honor of meeting Zach for a vodka or a slap, but my "friend" count just went up by 1.

Here's the rub: Does he or she with the most "friends" really win? Are these people really friends? Or are they just names for the Christmas card non-list. If one of these "friends" needed me to show up for anything more than a funny line now or then, would I? 

If I ran the list of people on my list I wonder who I could unfriend (now a recognized word in Webster's Dictionary, if not MicrosoftWord spell-check) and not ever have to explain my rejection to?  If you ask me how many friends I have, I wouldn't hesitate: 5. One for each finger on my left hand.  For the record I am right handed, which is why I said my left hand.  If I count them on my left hand it leaves my right hand open for balling into a fist and punching someone in the face who hurt my friend who I counted on my left hand.

But that number isn't really a true count of friends.  Friends are like concentric rings.  I am at the center. Those who cluster around in the first ring are my Top 5 who's back I would have in a bar fight, even if they were the one's who started it.  The next ring are friends, but not the one's who have been there in the middle of life's crisis.  They aren't the ones I called when my mom was taking her last breath. They are the ones I called later. The circles expand from there. Until they become "friends of friends" or maybe just people who I have met. And the circle is the last ring on the lake that you dropped the rock into.  Just a fade from the epicenter of your life.

Facebook is an awesome-horrifyingly huge waste of time and energy. It will create friendships, re-kindle friendships, wreck relationships, destroy careers and launch the NEXT BIG THING.  It comes and goes in my world. I spent about 9 months, maybe longer, just being a voyeur.  I read about peoples lives, jobs, families, bathroom habits, crazy comments, disappointments, victories, life decisions and didn't once comment with my keyboard. Life was simpler then.

When I post something am I disappointed when no one responds? Maybe. Maybe not.  I haven't given it much thought. Until now. Does the amount of friends one has correlate to the comments one receives? Maybe. Maybe not. I wonder if anyone has does a study.  I don't care enough to expend that energy doing a study on people I don't truly consider friends.

I enjoy reading about people's lives, mostly. But if FB went away tomorrow, would I be sad? Would I miss my "friends"? No. Because I know who my 5 are. They were there before FB and they will be there after FB.

I kind of hope Zach will be there after FB.  He's my kinda people.



 

Getting over the fear: A Thank You

Today I clicked on a link to a fellow FBer's (Facebook) blog:  1.  I didn't know he blogged (but then again, who doesn't these days).  2.  The words he had written resonated so deeply within me I felt a vibration.  He talked briefly about fear. Fear that actually paralyzes you from moving forward to be who and what you want to be.
I have been paralyzed many times in my life.  Typically when I know it might actually be for the best.  And then so many other times I make a rash, emotion based decision that actually ends up being a nightmare.

So I wondered, what if? What if I do take the leap and write down my thoughts and, here's the scary part, SHARE them with others?  What's the worst that could happen? I become a multi-platinum singing sensation (Taylor Swift)? I lose all the people closest to me who think, "why is she sharing that?" No one notices? No one reads it? So after careful consideration and a glass of wine, I thought, "WHO CARES?"

So I'm writing it down and to quote Miss Swift, "I'm naming names." Ok, maybe they will be made up, but people will definitely recognize themselves.

I will start with myself: Call me Julz.  That is what I am hoping my son's son, Jax, will call me. About him and that later.
I'm 48 and single.  Not sure if I'm happy about that little fact...Either being 48 or single, but it is what it is, so I accept it.  I've spent more time single than not in my life, and it's during these times I grow so much as a woman. But more about THAT later too.

I'm a mom.  2 grown, mostly, sons and an adopted daughter (more about her later as well). They are my pride.  The one thing I can actually say without hesitation is, "Yeah, they turned out pretty good!" This, despite my best efforts to REALLY mess them up.  I have 3 dogs that I'm a mom too as well.  All females.  Don't know why, except I didn't want a dog running around lifting his leg on anything that doesn't and sometimes does move. 

I am a retail manager.  Not what I aspired to be. But I'm good at it. Most days. I have an affinity for people.  Don't necessarily like them, but can inspire and lead and all that good stuff a manager is supposed to be able to do.  In interviews people will say, "I'm a people person!" and I'm thinking to myself, "No. No you aren't. You are 18 and you have NO IDEA about people." But that's my inside-my-head voice and I am learning to squelch that voice. You don't have to like people to understand them.  I just understand people. I probably should have been a psychologist.  Except then I would have to be compassionate and not yell, "BUCK UP SKIPPY! Whining will NOT get you where you want to be!"

I'm an avid half-reader. Meaning, I LOVE BOOKS and MAGAZINES!  But....I also seem to have then attention span of a gnat and start a book or an article and then wander off.  I call that really bad habit, "shiny object syndrome" (SOS, for short). With the exception that I have read all 4 of the Twilight books three times, and am starting on Twilight again.  Oh and I read that companion book, something about a little twit vamp whose name I can't even remember the story was so lame. 

I love to garden. I like the idea of gardening as well. I like the thought that I am passionate enough about lettuce that I could make it my life's calling.  Hmmmmm.....

Oh and let's not forget music.  LOVE music.  All kinds. This is where most people say "except rap". I'm sorry but I think Eminem is BRILLIANT! With a CAPITAL BRILLIANT!  I love classical. I love pop. I love country.  I don't like jazz.  Not jazz, jazz, but the kind of jazz that makes my teeth hurt.

Amusing moment!: Reading back over what I just typed, none of it, except the part about being a MOM even begins to define who I am. But I don't even know myself, so I just create lists. I like this and I like that.

And that lack of definition leads me, partially, to where I am RIGHT NOW...Sitting at my desk with a glass of wine, a Danish Butter Cookie scented candle burning, a dog curled up in a chair on my left, one at my feet, and a sense of where will this journey take me.  Where do I want it to go? What do I want it to evolve into?

To start, I think it's just a place for me to spit my thoughts out onto "paper". An electronic diary of what plays out in my head and in my world.

So, to CC, who gave me the little virtual nudge I needed to start this trip.

Come along for the journey, wont you?