Be Our Guest

My first step into this new world called the blogosphere began on New Year’s Day.

2010.

That’s the day I wrote my first words in something I titled, “My Journey Through Unemployment.”

Over the last 30 months, the blog has evolved.

To say the least.

A lot of words about unemployment.

And a lot of words about food.

And music.

And more food.

And family.

And quite honestly whatever has been on my mind.

As I embark on a new chapter of my life.

Called parenthood.

Again.

I’m sure that too will become a pretty common topic in my blog.

Especially as I continue to search for my next job.

But today, my blog is not about me.

It’s about someone I met through my blog.

Her name is Christina McCale.

Dr. Christina McCale.

Recently the good doctor asked if she could write a guest blog about her life.

And her unemployment.

In a word, I said... YES!

Dr. McCale, or Chris, is the author of a book titled “Waiting for Change.”

“It’s a book about unemployment and how it impacts every part of someone’s life:  housing, the job hunt, kids, emotional health, and food.”

Don’t I know.

But those are her words not mine.

Today she has provided us more of her words.

750 of them.

Telling the story of her story.

Which is not much different than mine.

And maybe yours.

If you’ve got an extra five minutes, I encourage you to click the link to my "old" blog:

http://myjourney-unemployed.blogspot.com/2012/06/waiting-for-change.html

I think it's well worth it.

Thank you.

If you are interested in writing a guest blog, please feel free to contact me at sirbacon123@yahoo.com.

Haircut 100

I got the best haircut of my life today.

Not just because I had a coupon.

And it really wasn’t the haircut.

It was more the words that were spoken during the haircut.

Between me.

And the person cutting my hair.

This wasn’t the first time I went to this local chop shop.

In fact, I think it was the third or fourth.

But amazingly, each time, the same lady has cut my hair.

I didn’t plan it that way.

I think it was hazmat.

Or kismet.

Or something like that.

Because there is clearly some strong connection between the two of us.

A connection that grows with every click of the scissors.

For whatever reason, I can still remember the first time she cut my hair.

That was the day she told me that she had spent her entire life living in the sticks.

And it was just recently that she moved to our “big” city.

The second time we talked about music.

A subject we both love.

She was impressed that I knew the name of the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ drummer.

"Chad Smith", the guy who looks exactly like Will Ferrell.

The next time I came in she told me how much she loved Sammy Hagar’s new band.

But she couldn’t think of the name.

“Chickenfoot,” I said.

A band that Smith also plays in.

That brought a giant smile.

But no discount on the haircut.

Now the fact that I was creating a bond between me and my hair stylist.... barber.... whatever.

Well, the fact that we had connected was good and all.

But it certainly didn’t prepare me for today’s haircut.

It all started when she asked me a very simple question.

“What are you doing on July 4th?”

“July 4th?”, I thought.

“That’s nearly two weeks away.”

That’s when I told her that I no longer plan that far ahead.

I think I said “I now live minute-to-minute.”

That answer got her wheels turning.

I told her that through the magic of therapy I now try to live in the moment.

Instead of getting too far ahead of myself.

More wheel turning.

Then I told her that my career, as I once knew it, was over.

That last part sent her wheels right into a tailspin.

“Are you in AA?”, she said.

In a stuttery whisper.

“No,” I replied.

I could see that my response not only confused her.

But it destroyed her thesis.

I informed her that over the last three years my life has been one big roller-coaster ride.

Got a job, don’t got a job.

Got a job, don’t got a job.

I explained that the game called company merger had cost me my career.

And it was really nothing I had done.

That made her start thinking again.

“Somebody did it to you,” she said.

“But I did it to myself.”

She said that she was the one responsible for being where she is today.

More specifically, a love affair with prescription pills and alcohol.

She told me that she’s been battling those demons for many years.

When I asked how long she’s been sober, she said:

“That’s a complicated question.”

Turns out the real answer is five months.

For the pills.

Not sure what the real answer is for the alcohol.

I could tell from our conversation that this is a lady with a good head on her shoulders.

But that good head hasn’t been able to stop some bad decisions.

By this point, the haircut was all done.

In fact I asked her to stop cutting.

“Because at my age, it’s not going to grow back.”

But we continued to talk.

For a while.

This trip to the barber was no longer just a haircut.

It was a therapy session.

Minus the couch.

I’m not sure if I was playing the role of Freud.

Or she was.

But we both walked away with what we really needed.

She got someone to listen.

And I got a great haircut.

Writing A Wrong

un·em·ploy·ment   [uhn-em-ploi-muhnt]

noun

1. the state of being unemployed, especially involuntarily

Before I became unemployed.

The first time.

I had no idea what the word meant.

I thought I did.

But I truly had no clue how many different emotions are attached to those four simple syllables.

But the only thing that really matters is reality.

The reality of being unemployed.

Whether that reality is an ego-check.

A financial hardship.

A change in careers.

Or losing the will to exist.

You can’t change reality.

But finding your best way to deal with your reality is the only way to combat this.

The Democrats can blame Bush.

The Republicans can blame Obama.

The Tea Party can blame Coffee.

At this point, blaming is all about the past.

And the present is what matters.

And the present is the reality.

And the reality is that as of a few weeks ago 13.1 million Americans are unemployed.

That’s the good news, I suppose.

Since that 8.5% unemployment rate is down.

Down from 10.0% in October of 2009.

That’s great news.

For the 1.5% who found jobs.

Unemployment is a topic that has captured the attention of nearly everyone in this great country.

And it won’t be going away anytime soon.

I don’t know anyone who doesn’t know anyone who hasn’t been bitten by the unemployment bug.

Do you?

Thanks to Sir Bacon, I have met some amazing people who have shared their stories with me.

Inspiring stories.

Sad stories.

Sometimes just stories.

A few days ago I was contacted by Lillian Swift.

She’s a creative writer from Northern Arizona University. 

“An aspiring writer who specializes in writing about community issues.”

Lillian asked if she could be a guest writer on my site.

The answer was YES!

Please CLICK HERE to read Lillian’s article.

The (not so) Great Depression

I have always considered myself an optimist.

Glass half full.

All that stuff.

I’ve always felt like it was a big waste of time to wallow in the negative.

Staying positive has always been second nature to me.

Until now.

This new life of mine is starting to take its toll.

And I don’t like it.

Not one bit.

All of a sudden, being optimistic is taking up a lot of my energy.

Let’s be honest here.

My heart was broken a few months ago.

You could say shattered.

Not only was I excited about being back in the employed column.

But I was even more excited about the life that was ahead of me.

And ahead for my family.

And in one moment.

One unexpected moment.

Poof.

It ended.

Disappeared, right in front of my eyes.

And my story is not one of a kind.

And I’m certainly not asking for your sympathy.

Sure, my details may be a little different than yours.

Or the guy down the street.

Or the single mom with two kids.

But the feelings we have are all the same.

And you don’t have to remind me that there are people who have it a whole lot worse than me.

I know that.

But I don’t have to live in their skin.

And they don’t have to live in mine.

In the immortal words of the great American poet Kesha Rose Sebert:  we r who we r.

We each have our own stuff to deal with.

I’ve tried writing about the good things that go on in my day.

Instead of the bad.

And there are A LOT more good than bad.

I’ve tried to live in the happy moments.

Instead of the sad.

I’ve tried to put on a good face.

When I can.

But that face is fading.

Fading fast.

And that is starting to eat away at me.

What really bums me out is being bummed out.

And not being able to stop it.

A good friend emailed me yesterday.

It went exactly like this.

Word for word.

Him:  How you doing? What's new?

Me:   Miserable, but thanks for asking.

He didn’t respond.

Why would he?

Who wants to chat with Debbie Downer.

Yesterday I was at my son’s first baseball practice of the year.

I hadn’t seen most of the parents since last summer.

As in last summer, when I told them that I had taken a great job.

On the other side of the country.

We live in a fairly small town USA.

So when I arrived at practice, everyone was already up-to-date on my life.

But one of the dads wanted more details.

And he wanted to know how I was doing.

So he asked.

Bad move on his part.

For the next ten minutes, I told him the truth.

Honesty is the best policy, right mom?

Let’s face it, I am in a serious funk right now.

But it’s a part-time funk.

In one breath, I’m talking about the sadness.

In the next breath, I’m analyzing the BCS Championship Game.

One second, I’m explaining how miserable I feel.

The next, how fortunate I am.

And how I don’t know where I’m going next.

And how happy I am to be home with the family.

And how confusing this all is.

And how lucky I am.

Let me tell you, this game of ping pong sucks.

A few days ago I got a call from one of my former bosses.

Who is now one of my current friends.

And one of my most loyal readers.

She left me a voice mail:

“Been reading your blog and I’m detecting -- as I don’t think anybody else would -- um, some depression.   So, I wanted to check in with you to make sure you are doing ok.”

I called back within a few minutes.

And we had a good talk.

I told her she was right.

And then I told her about a situation a few weeks ago when I was at the supermarket.

When out of nowhere I got hit by a ton of bricks.

Not a real ton of bricks.

That would’ve left a mark that everyone could see.

This was a ton of bricks that only I could feel.

I was with my wife in the meat department when my mind started wandering.

And when it landed, I had hit a full-on depression.

Within seconds.

For the rest of the time in the market and the entire ride home, I remained silent.

I even turned off the car radio.

And if I turned off The History of Howard Stern, you know I’m not in a very good place.

People battle with depression every day.

And I would say EVERY case is a lot worse than mine.

And for issues that are a lot more serious than mine.

I know that I could walk down any main street in this great country and find a dozen people who are worse off than me.

And I realize that.

But I don’t live in their skin.

And they don’t live in mine.

Writing this blog has introduced me to some of the most genuine, caring, special people I could ever hope to meet.

And the stories they have shared with me are so inspiring.

And so heartbreaking.

And quite honestly it makes me ashamed to be whining.

But right now I’m just keepin it real.

And right now, I feel real bad.

But I am optimistic it will get better.......

Soon.