And nearly a year later . . .

Shortly after I wrote the post below, my coworkers and I were informed our department was being outsourced. Not to another country but to a company who handles other companies HR operations. And, lucky us, we got to interview for our own jobs.

Not everyone was offered a position. And those who received offers were jumbled - people with far greater experience and seniority at our former company were offered entry level positions, which we accepted, grateful to at least have a job. (Layoffs for our company topped 1300.)

I was one of those people, grateful to have a job. It was a different sort of gratitude than I spoke of in previous posts. Grudging. Despondent. Bewildered.

I've been with the new company for over six months now. Loathing nearly every minute of it.

Why am I back here at "Mojo", after 12 months of writing nothing? I was Googling something and "Where's My Mojo" was the third result.

Serendipity.

I'm lucky.

I have to keep telling myself I'm lucky. I have a job. I'm lucky, lucky, lucky.

Every Monday morning when I wake with a knot of dread in the pit of my stomach and a throbbing headache, I know I'm lucky.

I drive to work, weary before I've even arrived. Trek across the frozen tundra of a parking lot, icy needles of the wind piercing my cheeks. I'm lucky.

I sit down at my desk, fire up my computer, glance at the phones to see half a dozen or more calls waiting - each caller more frustrated than the last. Email from leadership with vague, obscure messages, forecasting negative numbers and all sorts of unacceptable metrics. I'm lucky.

We're seat-fillers. Companies can fill 5-9 seats in India at the same cost it takes to fill just one of our seats. We know this, yet push it to the back of our minds even though much of our processing responsibilities have already been off-shored. We're lucky.

Yes, my friends, this country is in trouble. I'm lucky to have a job when so many others are arriving at work this morning to pink slips, given ten minutes to box up years worth of desk memorabilia and be escorted to the door by security - not even allowed to say goodbye to colleagues, peers . . . friends.

So, I take my meds and visit my therapist regularly to keep the dogs of depression and woe at bay. I complete all the ridiculous exercises in "What Color is Your Parachute," even though I already know my strengths, my skills and the job environment where I'll be most happy for the next 25 years:

I want a position which has zero chance of being outsourced.
I want to be trusted, not micromanaged.
I want to be creative, innovative, forward-thinking. A problem-solver.
I want to utilize my written communication skills.
I want to utilize my artistic skills.
I want to research, investigate, resolve, complete, present.

I received the summary plan description for the long-term disability plan I'm enrolled in. For my age bracket, the "expected retirement age" is 67.

Folks, this isn't your grandfather's retirement plan.

For those of you who have lost your jobs, I'm truly sorry. Hang in there - I hope you find something soon.

Catching up . . . ?

Today is my day to work late and I was hoping to catch up on my blog reading this morning but my blogroll isn't showing up! Instead, I'll post about the latest with me. Forgive me, but I promise to catch up with my blog friends, leave comments and touch base.

My days are filled with . . . work. But, pleasantly so. I'm swiftly getting the hang of my job and have had very few minor bumps along the way. Some of my fellow trainees haven't been so fortunate and have dealt with some irate, unreasonable callers. Having worked in several call centers before, I know it's just a matter of time before I get that unreasonable, hostile caller who will attempt to rattle me. I feel lucky that I've been experiencing placid calls which allow me to learn, adapt and gain confidence. Confidence is one of the key virtues one must possess when attempting to de-escalate a bad call.

As for The Spider situation, there was a scene between the two of us last Friday morning which threw me off my game for a better part of the day. In order for me to maintain a positive start to my work day as well as my sanity, my husband has been waiting with our daughter for the bus at the end of the driveway each day.

The scene, when described in simple words, seems benign enough, but the hostility, tension and sarcasm were palpable and disconcerting. I'd been stewing over The Spider's angry email and, well, instead of ignoring her Friday morning, I set my face into a grim expression, looked her in the eyes as I walked to the end of our driveway with my daughter. She smiled this broad, fake, taunting smile (very difficult to describe, but it threatened to weaken my resolve.) Never smiling in return, I gave one short, abrupt wave to which she responded (her voice dripping with sarcasm,) "Oh, I like that, that was nice." And then she mimicked my wave. I turned away and the simmering began.

What is she, in high school now? She possesses such a mastery of passive-aggressiveness, with just a simple taunting smile and sharp, grating voice. I kept it together long enough to see my child on the bus and head to work. On the way, I had to call my husband and rant and vent, poor guy. And thus, it was decided I should avoid her whenever possible, to protect my emotional well-being.

I've struggled to write over the past few months. I knew I wanted to write about The Spider Situation without it being a libelous story with recognizable characters. Lying in bed one night, I was struck by an idea and thus began my grown-up fairy tale with life-lesson moral about a dung beetle and a caterpillar. I brought it to my writer's group and it left them doubled over with laughter. My friend Gail was the only one who knew the true events behind the story; the others just enjoyed it for the writing and the lesson it presented.

It was cathartic and there's growing hope that I'll once again become a prolific writer.

Maintaining an even keel.

After I typed the post title, I wondered what that even meant? Somehow I knew it was a nautical phrase.

Anyway, this past week was to have been my third and final week of training at my new job. But then I was struck with bronchitis and unable to muster energy or stop coughing long enough to make it to work. I went to the doctor, was prescribed antibiotics, which I'm just finishing up. I've been fretting about being behind in training but spoke with my supervisor yesterday and she's already devised a one-on-one plan to help me catch up once I return to work.

Prior to getting sick, we had a wicked storm come through the metro. Wind, hail, non-stop lightning, thunder, rain. We lost three trees, our roof was damaged and hail cracked holes in our siding. The insurance adjusters totaled our roof (Yay, new roof!) and are attempting to locating matching siding for repairing it. If they can't match it, they'll total it (Yay, new siding!) and if that happens, my husband says we might as well replace the gutters, soffits, fascia and get all new windows while the siding is being replaced. (Yay, new windows!)

Our 1970 home is a mish-mash of colors and weathered materials. The wood trim around every window is painted a dark green which is peeling off. The roof is a nasty tan color. The siding is a cold grey "putty" which doesn't coordinate with the roof, the brick front or any other part of the home. There are raw wood posts in front that no one bothered to dress up with columns. So, when the insurance check is cut, I plan to select colors that sync well with each other. And finally having attractive, functioning windows - windows that open for easy cleaning or to let in breezes; windows with proper airtight seals!

My only lament is that we somehow didn't manage to get hail damage IN the house. Like on the medieval cabinets, the gold-fleck Formica counters or the yellowing linoleum floor. Darn it.

Bridge survivor.

I found out from an article in the Star Tribune that one of the survivors of the I-35W bridge collapse is a young actress who played Pippi Longstocking at The Children's Theatre Company last year. My Girl Scout troop saw the play and then my friend, my daughter and I went to see it again a few weeks later. The actress suffered some fractured vertebrae and will need physical therapy for a while, but should be able to act and dance and attend college. My daughter and I are sending her get-well cards. I drew this in my card:

Of Human Bonding

Everywhere I go - the supermarket, the gas station, the library - I overhear conversations between complete strangers. People are discussing the bridge collapse and how narrowly they or a loved one or a friend missed being on the bridge when it fell. I much prefer those brief moments of bonding to the media frenzy with news programs sending their top anchors to report directly from the tragedy, the fallen bridge serving as a dramatic backdrop for their reports.

This drawing, done by a fifteen-year-old boy named Will Bornhoft, demonstrates how something like this touches the human spirit.


Photographed by Jeff Wheeler for the Minneapolis Star Tribune.