Pivoting Pro: Laid off--but ready for what's next

Like tens of thousands of workers, I was laid off recently. 

I've spent the past three years working in communications for the local community college: writing stories, news releases, web content, and producing a series of videos. My contract ended, and with it, my income, healthcare and other benefits.

But I'll be OK. First of all, I am not my job. My life is much bigger than how I make my living.

This isn't the first time I've been laid off or the first time I've been up against hard times. I am resilient, resourceful, and creative. I've pivoted in my career so many times that if I weren't 5-foot-2, I'd play for the NBA. 

Over the years, I've pivoted from one job and learned to new skills to do another job. 

• I've learned to manage communications for nonprofit organizations. 
• I've learned how to be a reporter for a daily newspaper. 
• I've learned how to write grant proposals for nonprofit organizations.
• I've learned how to stand in front of a TV camera and be spokesperson for an organization.
• I've learned how to write for the Web and social media.
• I've learned how to produce videos. 
• I've learned how to be a much better writer.

Who knows what skills I'll learn next? 

Writing and communications jobs I've done in my career:

I've done many kinds of work that isn't aligned to my college degree or career path. I'll be you have, too. 

• As a teen, I was a carhop at A&W, a lumber sorter and grader at a lumber mill, and a dishwasher in a nursing home.
• I paid for college by working as a file clerk and then by doing data entry.
• I managed shipping and receiving for a college bookstore.
• I created and ran events for an independent bookstore. And I was the Story Lady.
• I managed a small, rural branch library and again was the Story Lady.
• I managed a federal program to assist homeless veterans
• I managed a federal program to provide heating assistance to low-income people
• I managed retail operations at a National Park Service visitor center
• I ran my own book marketing and literary events company.

Who knows what interesting work is ahead for me?

Other kinds of work I've done not related to journalism and writing:

I've worked long enough to know what I want in my work:

My past work experience has also given me clarity about what I don't want in my work:

So here I go again. I'm ready to take on new challenges and see where I can make a difference. 

No need to wish me luck. My dad witnessed my well-developed pivoting skills. He told me: "You're like a cat. You always land on your feet."

I do. 

But do let me know if you hear of someone who needs a writer and communications professional who is resilient and can pivot like an NBA pro.

What jobs have you done? What do you want to do? What do you NEVER want to do again. (For me, it's being micromanaged. Life's too short.)

Here's a nifty free word cloud generator if you'd like to create your own word clouds. 

Surviving a tough week: Work layoffs and hanging up my dragon boat paddle

The Mighty Women paddle a dragon boat!
This week, I had to hang up my paddle. 

Have you ever had a week that knocks the wind out of you? Last week, the daily newspaper where I work announced it was laying off 10 percent of the staff. Although I was not laid off, that news sent me reeling.

Here's why: It opened wounds from five years ago when I was newly divorced and was laid off. I had to sell my house in the lowest housing market in decades. In weeks, I emptied a four-bedroom house and gave away much of my possessions.

Because I was unemployed, the only apartment I could afford had homeless people scavenging in the garbage bin right outside my door at all hours. I didn't feel safe. I had a hard time sleeping. My life had turned upside down. Overnight, my status changed from secure, middle-class soccer mom to unemployed woman living on the edge.

Five years later, I'm a different woman. I'm stronger--and not not just physically stronger. After having endured hard things, I've learned that I'm emotionally, mentally and spiritually stronger too. I am grateful for the hardships because they have molded me into the woman I am today.

But that doesn't mean I'm requesting an encore in hardship. When the news of layoffs came last week, they dredged up those past hardships and the panic--of feeling that I couldn't control what was happening in my life. I started thinking about what would happen if I were laid off too. I don't have a house to lose anymore. That's already happened.

I do have a wonderful place I call "home." For more than two years, I have been housemates with my retired minister and his wife. I pay below-market rent for their mother-in-law suite, which has the perks of a view of the woods, a hot tub, and fresh raspberries, blueberries and strawberries just steps outside my door. I've also forged a friendship with this long-married couple. It's been good for me to witness a healthy, long-time marriage. If I were laid off, I likely wouldn't lose my home. I wouldn't be homeless. That was a relief, yet I still worried about the "what ifs."

As much as I'd like to avoid further hardship, life has a way of flinging it our way. Last week, I also had to come to grips with this hard fact: It's time to hang up my dragon boat paddle. It's been nine months since I crushed both wrists in my four-wheeler accident. After surgery and months of physical therapy, this spring I returned to the Mighty Women's dragon boat and paddled with my team. I even paddled during the races in Tacoma. That homecoming was sweet.

But paddling a dragon boat takes a lot of strength, not to mention arm range of motion and wrist mobility. After every paddling practice, my left wrist was in pain. I have to listen to my body and give up the sport--and the team that changed my life. So I reluctantly told the news to Jeanie, my coach who has pushed me, molded me into a Mighty Woman.

In the meantime, I'm continuing to work on my physical therapy on my own. I am determined to get more range of motion, more mobility, more strength. I may not be able to paddle a dragon boat, but I'm confident that soon I'll be able to leisurely paddle a kayak on flat water. I can strap on my backpack and take a hike. I have already done a little swing dancing--another activity that requires lots of arm movement. And while wearing my buckskin skirt, I beat my drum around a campfire while surrounded by friends. My transformation from soccer mom to hippie chick is complete.

My transformation from middle-class soccer mom to hippie chick is complete!

Yesterday, after a week of panic, I reminded myself of this truth: The only thing in life I can control is my attitude. If further layoffs come, let them come. I can handle it. After all, I am the woman with the dragon tattoo. I am confident I will always be a Mighty Woman.

I'm the woman with the dragon tattoo!
I can handle anything.

Dragon boating adventures: Paddling from the front bench & being a "featherbutt!"

 

Yesterday my coach gave me the opportunity to paddle from the front bench. How honored I felt to experience paddling the dragon boat from the front of the boat rather than the back, where I sit during races. That's me with the dark hair, glasses and black shirt, sitting in the front bench, starboard side.

On our dragon boat, we call the paddlers in the back of the boat "the powerhouse" for their sheer strength. The paddlers in the front are called "the featherbutts" because it's often the smaller, lighter paddlers sitting in the front. What a boost to be included in the "Go, featherbutts!" cheer that rang out from paddlers in the back of the boat.

Being placed in the front of the boat, even temporarily on a trail basis, must mean that my coach thinks I'm ready to move my paddling skills to the next level, to learn a new, more finessed way to paddle. A new stroke. That mirrors what I've experienced in my life off the river too.

This past week marked one year since my life took an unexpected turn when I was laid off from a job I thought I loved. At first, I felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me and I couldn't catch my breath. I wondered how I'd survive.

Through the grace and generosity of others--and my own gritty determination deep down in my genes--I've not only survived, but thrived.

One dragon boating friend paid me a high compliment. "The saying 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger' isn't true for most people," he said. "But for you, it is."

A year after being delivered what I thought was a fatal blow, I'm a healthier and happier woman. I've lost 45 pounds (so far!) and have gained confidence. I ditched truckloads of material things that were cluttering my life and am living a streamlined, simpler life.

I didn't just start a new chapter. It's a whole new book.

Even at work, I'm flexing new muscles and pushing myself further. For the past seven months, I've worked as a news coordinator in the newsroom at my city's daily newspaper. Through the coaching of my editors and fellow reporters, I've become a better writer.

Recently I was promoted to education reporter. Yesterday I had a my second front-page story, and today I had an interesting feature story on the front of the Sunday "Life" section. To celebrate my year anniversary of being laid off and beginning a new life in the newsroom, I made my Mexican brownies for the newsroom staff.

I'm flexing new muscles daily, both in the newsroom and on the water.Yesterday at dragon boat practice coach Jeanie worked with me to teach me this stronger, more complex stroke to allow me to pull more water so our boat can power through the water.

This stroke feels different. It's another new thing to learn, but I'm determined to learn it. I perched on the front bench, breathing out with each stroke. Reaching further. Digging deeper. And pulling water with my teammates as we skimmed across the Willamette River on a glorious October morning.

The experience was even sweeter when Debbie shouted encouragingly: "Go, featherbutts!" I'm a featherbutt!






.

A tattered life held together with duct tape and Gorilla Glue

My driver's side mirror secured to my Subaru with duct tape and Gorilla Glue.

For the past five months, my driver's side mirror has been secured to my Subaru with duct tape and Gorilla Glue. Clinging to what remained of its structure, that broken mirror was a metaphor for the sorry state of my life: laid off, forced to sell my house before it went to the bank, downsizing in a hurry and trying to figure out how to function in this new "normal."

On Christmas Eve I knocked the mirror loose when I had a too-close encounter with a support post in my storage unit's parking garage. I was retrieving the most basic Christmas trimmings--the Christmas stockings of my two young adult children and a small collection of Nativity sets, including those made by the kids when they were wee ones.

Just a week earlier, with the help of many friends and family, I had moved from my three-story house to a Lilliputian one-bedroom apartment. I was settled in enough that I was cooking Christmas dinner for my children and we were opening gifts together on Christmas afternoon. Despite all the turmoil, I was determined to create some new Christmas memories with my kids.

With Christmas boxes in hand, I climbed into my car and waved at the storage facility attendant who was waiting for me to leave so he could close up shop and go home to celebrate with his own family. He already had shut one of the gates and was getting ready to close the last gate. I put my car in reverse and WHAM!

My poor mirror was broken but it wasn't shattered. In fact, on a cursory glance it didn't look damaged at all. But it could no longer function in the way it always had. It could no longer move to give me a clear view of what was coming up behind me. Again, a sad metaphor for my life.

I think I said the "eff" word--which is not usually part of my vocabulary. Then I drove to my new apartment and prepared for Christmas with my children.

Getting the mirror repaired wasn't an immediate option. My car insurance deductible is $500. I was unemployed and didn't want to claim the boo-boo on my insurance anyway.

I took my car to an auto body shop and explained my circumstances. The kind man didn't have the heart to tell me how much it would cost to repair it, but he did say that my best option was to wait until I was employed again and then to find a used mirror at a junk yard. He instructed me to gently take the mirror off, put drops of Gorilla Glue on the touchpoints and then secure it with duct tape. So I did.

Two months later, I got a job, but still didn't have the funds for a junk yard mirror. So the duct tape remained. Thankfully, an acquaintance asked me to write a freelance article for a trade publication. I had checked with my trusted mechanic, and the cost to buy a junk yard mirror and install it was roughly the amount I was being paid for the article.

Yesterday, Hoesley Eco Auto replaced the broken mirror with a lovely junk yard mirror that looks exactly like the old one. With the touch of a button from the driver's door, I can move the mirror and get a clear view of what's coming up behind me.

Since my Christmas Eve boo-boo, my life has improved considerably. I have a great job where I am using my writing skills, and I am valued and respected. I recently moved from the tiny one-bedroom apartment to a World War II-era duplex with charm, space and natural light. It feels like home.  Through mindful eating and paddling a dragon boat three times a week, I have lost almost 40 pounds.

 I am keeping the duct tape and Gorilla Glue because who knows when my life might need a minor repair? But for now, the view ahead and behind is promising.

Finding Direction with a Life Coach

Almost three weeks ago, I moved to what I have come to call the Duplex of my Dreams. Although many boxes still wait to be unpacked, I have tidied my new home so that it's welcoming,

Gratitude washes over me as I sit cross-legged on my sofa and look about my new living room. Built in the 1940s, my duplex has ample natural light via corner windows, gleaming hardwood floors, picture molding and a charming wall of built-in bookcases. It's the perfect backdrop for my ecclectic collection of antiques and finds from estate sales and thrift shops. It's cozy and comfortable.

My new life feels comfortable too.

Having settled into my new job in the newsroom of our daily newspaper, I'm learning to be a faster, better writer due to the constant deadlines and excellent editors. I am better understanding what makes a good story. Today I pitched a feature story idea to my editor, and he not only said yes, but also asked me to write it for the Sunday paper. Hooray!

This opportunity wouldn't have happened if I hadn't found the courage to ask if I could write the story. Summoning that courage is a direct result of my recent life coaching sessions with Amy Earle from the other Vancouver, the one in Canada.

Over our ten weekly sessions via Skype, Amy helped me to find direction, to set goals and to make a plan to achieve them. She kept me on track and helped me to forge a path through some dense underbrush that was obscuring my vision.

I'd never considered a life coach, but last fall, when I had been laid off and needed to find another job, sell my house and find a new place to live, I needed direction. Through a listserve I subscribe to, I discovered an amazing deal on 10 life coaching sessions that were being offered to a small number of people. I quickly emailed my story to the life coaching coordinators, and I was selected to get this super-duper deal.

In January shortly after settling into my dinky one-bedroom apartment, I started my life coaching sessions. I had my last life coach session here in my new home exactly a week ago.

Because of Amy's guidance, I have a clearer idea of who I am and where I am heading. She helped me create a map to ensure that I keep moving forward, taking one small step at a time toward my next great adventure.

Seeking Sweet Sanctuary

Crash!

I  was awakened at 4 a.m. by the Dumpster lid being thrown open. Again.

Sometimes this occurs several times a night when people who are down on their luck rummage through my apartment building's enormous recycling and garbage bins searching for bottles and cans to redeem for cash. Perhaps they're even looking for food. That's sobering. Even heartbreaking.

But the bins are located immediately below my living room window, so mostly it's a nuisance.

When the crash woke me the first night in my apartment, my first thought was that someone had broken down my apartment door. Now that I've endured these nightly interruptions for three months, I just roll over and try to go back to sleep.

If I can't go back to sleep, I grab my laptop and write.

This morning I couldn't find sleep again. If I weren't so exhausted, I would be giddy. Today I am moving from this noisy apartment to my new home, which I refer to as the Duplex of my Dreams. Never did I believe a 1,000-square-foot duplex could be sanctuary to me.

Five months ago, I was a homeowner with a good job that paid a living wage. When I was laid off, I had to sell my house immediately before it became a short sale. A week before Christmas, I moved into this diminuitive one-bedroom apartment.

At the time, it was a sanctuary. I needed to move quickly, and of all the apartments I looked at, this one was clearly the best in my price range.

But I hadn't lived in an apartment for more than two decades, and the transition from quiet nights in a house to interrupted slumber in this apartment has taken its toll. Even with ideal sleep conditions, I am an insomniac. Most people likely could sleep through the noises that have robbed my sleep and frayed my edges. But I am a light sleeper.

After three months of o'dark thirty Dumpster action outside my front door and my oblivious, noisy neighbor whose television blares all night through our common bedroom walls, the sleeplessness has worn me out.

Now that I am working again, sleep is essential. So even though I will lose my hefty deposit, I am moving today to a quiet duplex in my old residential neighborhood sans Dumpster and noisy neighbors. The tenant on the other side of my duplex is an older single woman who owns a cat.

This apartment has its charms. Built in 1928, it has hardwood floors, French doors and a cozy gas fireplace. It's in the heart of a trendy commercial district with coffee shops, ethnic restaurants, antique stores and a tattoo parlor just across the alley from my living room windows.

If I were 25, this would be the ideal place to live. It has a great vibe and so much to do. The tattoo parlor is so close that I could get a tattoo practically by just sticking my arm out my window. Alas, I am not 25, and I don't want a tattoo. I just want to sleep soundly.

My new home also has charm. Built in the 1940s, it has hardwood floors, built-ins, windows for glorious natural light, a humongous kitchen, oodles of storage space and even a private, tiny backyard with a patio and garden space. My new sanctuary.

For the past three months, my cat, Anakin Skywalker, has been forced to be an indoor kitty. Now he can find his own santctuary by escaping the confines of the house to lie in the sun.

My new place is also within easy walking distance of this trendy neighborhood so I can have the best of both worlds: divine sleep, essential garden therapy and still being walking distance to my favorite coffee shop.

Last Saturday night, knowing it was the last weekend in my apartment, I took a farewell stroll through my trendy neighborhood to Ice Cream Renaissance, where I ordered my favorite: one scoop of Bittersweet Chocolate Love Affair ice cream on a sugar cone. It was the first ice cream I'd had in three months.

As I walked back to my apartment, I savored the flavor of the ice cream and my neighborhood. Because it was St. Patrick's Day, bagpipers wearing kilts were performing at Pop Culture. People had spilled onto the sidewalk to chat. I spied the owner of the Moroccan restaurant across the street listening to the bagpipes too.

Midway through my ice cream, I realized how amazing it has been to be a part of this neighborhood when I needed the sanctuary it offered. And how blessed I am to be able to move forward into my new sanctuary offering peaceful slumber and a garden to boot.

I took another lick of Bittersweet Chocolate Love Affair and walked home, dreaming of planting tomatoes, sunflowers and lavender.