No Working Title

Losing my job has been a monumental event for me. But it should not have been. I view things differently, or at least I used to. My world had been divided into 2 segments: before I lost my mother and after I lost my mother. Those parts of my life are dramatically different. In the first part, I was a flux of tears for simple things, like if my hair was not perfect leaving the salon or if I had a toothache, or if my stomach hurt. But when my mom died nothing ever compared. I knew that no matter what happened that would always be the worst. I always had the attitude that if I can lose my mother and survive, I can lose anything. So you see I wasn’t at all scared like most people of losing my job. I never felt like it could not happen to me. Quite the contrary, I often wondered why it hadn’t happened to me. I lost a parent; surely a job was no more secure.

But why have I been crying this way? It’s that deep-down cry, the one that is so piercing that you scare yourself when you hear it– not like one that comes from the loss of a lover, but the one that comes from the loss of a limb or someone so dear to you that you are no longer you. This pain is not at all like the pain I feel when I’ve run too long or burned my mouth with food that’s too hot. It’s different. I’m ashamed because I’m not crying over the loss of the job per se but what that loss equates to.

My job was not perfect like most, but it afforded me a sense of status–a sense of self. It allowed me to have a routine that I now know I long for. I used to complain about having to wake up early to run before work, having to rush to the train, having to e-mail my friends during the day to see what I missed from the night before. I used to return from hurried lunches in the afternoon to realize how slow the day was going despite the fact that I’d only be a third of the way through my to-do list. I used to change into my workout gear in the bathroom at work so as not to have a reason to skip the gym. Finally, the day over, I’d head to the gym for a favorite class. Then, after the 25-minute commute back home, showered, eating my soup from Panera while watching the episode of Gossip Girl I recorded earlier in the week, I’d get to relax for a minute or two. Let’s not forget the weekend routine. Saturdays I’d wake up just slightly later because even though I’m a morning person, I wanted to revel in the freedom of the weekend. I’d spend two hours at the gym, and then go shopping. Awww, shopping–the tears are 50% from the loss of shopping. I love shopping–the freedom to buy whatever you want whenever you want–the notion that wants and needs are equal.

All these things were stripped away when I lost my job. I had to give up the pricey gym membership–no more belonging to two gyms, one niche and one practical–and no more training sessions. Gone were the weekly salon visits, manicures, massages, clothes. No more Banana Republic. No more not reading price tags. Did you know cheese was $6? I can’t afford cheese. The tears come down even more. Does everyone feel this way?

I still have a strong longing for the weekend; I’m still excited like everyone else when Friday comes. Although I’ve spent the same grueling hours looking for a job that I would have spent at my old job, the real reason that the weekend brings excitement is because for two days I’m like everyone else. No one thinks, “What is she doing at a café in the middle of the day?” I don’t have to worry about anyone judging me, or judging myself on how I choose to segment my day. I’m not thinking, “Is this run too long? I could be sending out a resume or looking for another way to market myself.”

Monday comes again and I crave a routine. I wake up at 7:45 a.m., fix my lunch for the day, pack my gym bag and head to the gym. I curse myself when I sleep in. Would you sleep in if you were going to work? Surely not, so get up already.

If I thought I was depressed this would be different. But I know I’m not. I’m just unemployed. I tried to somehow use this as an excuse for why I have not washed my clothes in months, swept the floor in weeks, or cleaned the bathroom in days. But this is not really different from how I was living before unemployment–as my friend reminded me, I’m just lazy. I want to make excuses, I want to somehow rise above what “other Americans are feeling,” but according to the articles my behavior is normal. I want to stand out in some way. I either want to be the person that found a new job in three weeks during the recession or the one that is so depressed that their friends and family have to watch them carefully.

Recently, a friend told me that if she were unemployed she would do all the things she wanted to do while she was at work. I never had a list of what I would do if I didn’t have to work. That never seemed appropriate. I never imagined not working so now even during my off time, when I’m not looking for work, I am obsessing about looking for work. I know everything there is to know about unemployment. It’s my job to know these things. I can quote statistics about unemployment rates, labor rates, etc. without blinking, and I don’t know what I would be doing if I wasn’t doing that. Some people have dreams of traveling, writing, learning a new language, or going back to school. To me those are the things you do when you’re employed. I can’t think of traveling, lunching, or leisurely writing when I’m consumed with the fear of not having a job.

I’ve become distant lately in my friendships. Most people don’t notice, but I notice. On any given day I only want to talk to the same three people. Those are the only people I will always answer the phone for, which I know is not fair to my other friends, but those are the only people I want to hear from sometimes. I don’t want to be asked how the search is going, or how am I doing–I’m unemployed, that’s how I’m doing. It’s so unfair to them, the others. Because if they didn’t call I would then consider them bad friends–a catch-22.

I make a conscious effort to know what day of the week it is, so as not to seem aloof–to reaffirm that days mean the same to me as they do to you, and I’m normal. Today is Monday, May 17, 2010. It’s 11:09 p.m. and I’m still unemployed. I never knew what having a job meant for me as a person until now. But I guess some things you never know until you lose the very thing you hold so dear.