Career in Transit

Today I went to the orientation at the "career transition service provider" that is a part of my severance package. It seems like a nice benefit. About seven recently laid off folks sat in a high-rise conference room in the financial district. One man was a bank president and not sure what he would do next; another had taken retirement after 34 years rather than relocate. Two women were axed after a merger. Another had been with her company for nearly 12 years and finally found herself out on a limb with a failing project and the choice to move to Europe to manage it. I asked her if she'd seen a lot of change in that time. "Oh, so much! I should put 'expert at weathering change' on my resume."

Euphemisms abound at this place ("transition" rather than "layoff," "partner" rather than "employer"), but it's not hard to realize why: They're engaged by the companies doing the layoffs, presumably to minimize wrongful termination lawsuits. Understandably, the consultant who first contacted me from this firm was mute when I made some less-than-positive comments about the timing of my layoff. Why fan the flames of discontent?

We went around the room introducing ourselves and saying what we planned to do next. After mentioning my 10 years as a magazine editor, I said that if I stayed employed in the magazine business it would be to find something "bigger and better," but that I was also a singer and recording artist and wanting to dedicate all my time to that--not to mention having a five-year-old at home and a baby on the way. The former executive guy seemed sympathetic and shocked at my situation, wishing me luck and wondering how I was going to handle all this.

Next, we toured the office, starting with how to evacuate via the emergency stairwells. I can only hope that's not because disgruntled former employees frequently make such measures necessary (or do skyscrapers require that?). Our guide through the entire orientation was a witty guy--the office manager--who had been behind the receptionist desk when I arrived. It occurred to me that that's a good test of character for some corporate types I know who might treat the receptionist superciliously, only to find he's key to the firm's services.

The best part was the review of how they coach you to find your next "opportunity" (not "job"), whether it's as an employee, an entrepreneur or a retiree. I took the self-test in the booklet they gave us and found that my primary motivators are technical skill (being the best writer or musician I can be), lifestyle (not compromising my family and personal values for work), entrepreneurship and autonomy. Interestingly, I scored myself low on general management (the other low score was for job security). As I read, I realized that many of the values ascribed to "general managers" (having to lay people off, manipulating large budgets and being stimulated rather than exhausted by emotional/political crises) were the things either I thankfully never had to do or did and mostly despised. I knew that I had risen nearly as far as I would go and that I was a "functional manager," but I think that applies to plenty of editors. The only way I could manage (and no one ever said I did a bad job of it) was to remain engaged in most of the areas of magazine production that stimulated me. I know there are chief editors who become very strategic and hands-off, but I always wanted to lead by example and participate without micromanaging (which I've never been accused of doing).

These preferences dovetailed well with the audience our magazine reached, software developers. Like me, these people tend to seek the respect of their peers and success at doing challenging, skilled work over "golden handcuffs," security, certification and ascendence. As a contrast, when I worked on a magazine serving doctors, I always joked that in medicine, a college dropout is called a quack, whereas in IT, he's called Bill Gates. This also explains my aversion to academia. I adore learning new things, but could never stomach (at least, not for four years) the structure of a university. But some people thrive in that environment, just as they do in a corporation.

It's too early to say, but I wonder: Is it an anomaly that I lasted 10 years in the confines of a large company and all its attendant BS? Necessity played a role, of course. I've been working since I was 14 years old--full-time since 18. And let's be real: My day job was a great one.

According to this guidebook, stage 6 of a career is "Gaining of tenure, permanent membership." Within the first five to 10 years, after you've successfully passed the training, socialization and early membership stages, the corporation tells you whether you've arrived and are welcome to stick around for the long haul. Isn't it ironic? Right on the 10-year-mark, the message was: "You have no future here. You don't belong."

I don't mean that in a self-pitying way--and the murky new future there was not one that appealed to me a month ago or now. But I'm not like the rest of 'em (not counting my kooky friends). I am a working artist, not an ulcerated sublimator, and that's got to be seen as awkward. It's a watershed moment, when despite everything you've done to deliver results and go beyond the call of duty, from on high comes the verdict: "We know you're different, even if you don't know just how different you are."