Take this job and shove it 1

The recent headlines have been stunning and depressing … all the businesses closing and the huge rounds of layoffs and firings. I worry about family and friends here and around the country and the hardships in general that we'll face as a country.

Sometimes I wonder if we need a startling jolt to wake us up to our personal role in the world, to live life a new way rather than just go through those cliché motions of everyday life.

I had that wake-up call 17 years ago when I was fired from the job I thought I had loved and would likely occupy the rest of my life. I had no big ambitions. I was comfortable … well, maybe not as much as I thought in the immediate aftermath. I stumbled across some disjointed notes of that transition …

I lost my job the other day and I hope I never find it.

Everyone tells me I'll be a better person for it.

I might believe them in a week, wait, maybe a year.

I wanted to cry, laugh, punch someone's lights out, dance in the streets, blame myself, blame someone else, run and hide or announce it to the world. Oh, what the heck, I just wanted to live again.

For the first time in 12 years I was free. I was free of the emotional toll this occupation had taken. Its demands had robbed me of time with my family, drained my physical health and threatened my emotional well-being.

I wondered why I remained as long as I had. I had lost interest in work, love and life in recent months. It had become automatic, dampening my creative energy. I wanted to quit but was too chicken. What would I do? I had my dreams, but better yet, I had a husband who would gladly support us.

My termination came as no surprise, though you're still caught off guard somewhat. The job and I had grown up and gone our separate ways. I had wanted to leave for some time. As I examined my feelings about the meaning and purpose of life in recent months, I knew there was more than what I was doing 45 to 50 hours a week in the work zone.

I worked with a lot of great people, though there were a few I hoped I would never see again except at the end of a gangplank in my own pirate movie.

Leaving was not so hard to do. They wanted to spare me the embarrassment of exiting in front of my co-workers and employees, but I talked to several people as I tackled the depths of my desk and filing cabinet drawers.

Pieces of my life began to unfold. Broken pencils, three-year-old memos, unfinished bags of potato chips and cookies, business cards from businesses that had closed long ago, and unopened cans of fruit and soup. (Just how long do those things keep?)

It was like the last mile, wishing I had more time, wishing I had done some cleaning a long time ago. Yet, I was energized by volumes of memories. It would be tough to catalogue all them …

More tomorrow …