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.