What comes next

between beauty and destruction, again

Well, this isn’t the newsletter I expected to send out this week, that’s for sure. I had intended to send you all some late winter poetry, or perhaps some musings on the wildlife that I’ve noticed by the river, or a description of the skate ski session I eked out on the lake’s crust when it finally got crusty enough a few days ago. But yesterday, as I was scanning through some work emails before heading into a dental appointment, an email from the new CEO at my company came in. I figured I’d read it after my appointment so I flagged it and carried on with a few things I wanted to ensure got done before I took my PTO hour. Then as I was typing a message to somebody, my computer shut off. It went black, and then rebooted, slowly. As this was happening, I got a text from a colleague asking if I was “Okay” which prompted me to go into my work email on my phone (which I normally never do) to read that CEO email that I’d flagged for later. It mentioned some business wins, where the company is headed, and regretted to inform us that some layoffs were coming in order to ensure the health of the organization.

Turns out I’d been laid off, but the company wiped my computer remotely before I got the actual notice or a phone call that I had, indeed, been laid off. I’d guess it was probably a mistake by someone in IT to pressed the button too soon or something, but it was a very jarring experience. Instead of being informed by another human that I was no longer employed, my computer just shut off and I lost all access to anything company related.

So I went to the dentist. No cavities, yay!

The peculiar beauty of being laid off after you've already written a book about being laid off is that your content, and most of what you have to say about the situation, is already written.

The first page of What Comes Next, a little book I wrote about losing my job the last time it happened. Here’s to not reinventing the wheel?

Lay offs leave you in a strange head space for awhile. I was let go from a health coaching position in December of 2016, after ten years at the company, and yesterday, I was laid off from the health coaching position that I got next. After seven years and surviving several rounds of layoffs during 2022, I was feeling pretty confident job-wise. Things seemed like they had stabilized.

Apparently not enough.

I’m in a slightly different headspace this time, I think, and I feel less bad than I did last time, but there’s still plenty of disbelief, rage, grief, and uncertainty to wade through. So, to my fellow laid-off colleagues, or anyone else who is trying to process an unexpected job loss, this is what I have to say to you, and what I need to remind myself.

You are not your job. You never were, and you never will be.
Your life still has meaning and purpose. 
Even though it feels like the rug has been pulled out from under you and everything about life feels uncertain, your foundation can take the shaking. Even if the shaking leaves cracks. 
Losing your job sucks. I’m really sorry to hear this happened.
Things will be hard for awhile, maybe even for a long time, and it’s ok to be angry or sad or overwhelmed. It’s ok to ask for and accept help.
There are financial ramifications when work goes away, but even though money wields a lot of power, it doesn’t have to hijack your values.
If you are white, able bodied, straight, cis-gender, enjoy a stable family life, and have a large safety net, your experience navigating unemployment will be easier. [Not easy. Easier.] If you have it, this is a good opportunity to check your privilege.
This may feel like a personal moment of destruction, but even destruction has the capacity to contain beauty.
You are not your job.

Things I’m thinking about after reading the small print of my latest layoff

Can it be called a ‘separation agreement’

if one party didn’t actually ‘agree’ to separate?

It seems like conversation has to happen

for an agreement to be reached.

It’s a strange thing to accept business decisions

that result in no longer being involved in the business.

It’s also a strange thing to hold thank you for your service in one hand

with unfortunately your service is no longer needed in the other.

There’s nothing you could have done differently

just doesn’t land how it’s intended to.

Isn’t there always something

you could have done differently?

It’s true and important to acknowledge

that you are not your job.

It’s also true and important to acknowledge

jobs have a lot of power in a culture that rewards work.

Health insurance and the quest to find affordable, adequate care

shouldn’t be the biggest source of stress when a job goes away

but what do you know?

The system still isn’t set up to support true wellbeing.

Beauty and destruction still walk hand in hand

no matter what the fine print says.

Life is strengthened by paying attention

to the persistent beauty of the world. ¹

I’m thankful for my support network as I figure out what comes next (again). All support is gratefully accepted, so if you’d like to help, consider buying a book, subscribing using the paid option of this newsletter, sharing my work with your community/audience, or attending an upcoming writing-related offering.

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Upcoming events:

I’ll be back at Alignment this Sunday, January 28, to lead their weekly session of contemplative practice.

The Book-Writing Lab: A Panel Conversation + Q&A with Kaitlin Curtice, Osheta Moore, and Heidi Barr

Monday, 2/12 10-11:30am PST

In today's world, there are many ways to get our writing in front of an audience, but there's nothing quite like the feel of a book in your hands. What does it look like to write a book? What are some of the practical how-tos, like how to organize your time or your ideas? Do you have to find an agent? What about self-publishing, or working with a small indie press? How does the publication process unfold?

Join Osheta Moore, Kaitlin Curtice, and Heidi Barr for a conversation demystifying the process of writing a book. Learn from each of their unique experiences with writing books, then join in for a Q&A moderated by Krissy Kludt to have your questions answered.

Cost: $50 Writing the Wild Cohort Member Cost: $30

1. The fine print didn’t say this, I did—but I like to end on a hopeful note, what can I say.