Once upon a time, many moons ago, my college best friend and I concocted what seemed to be a brilliant plan. In jest, when our careers would fail at some point, we would become “trophy wives.” Both reasonably-decent looking specimens in relatively good physical shape, we felt this was a great fall-back option in the event of economic catastrophe. This idea was, of course, fueled by amaretto late in the evening and a youthful spirit of hope.
She went on to get a lucrative position in software testing.
As of Friday, I became unemployed.
Layoffs are an inherent risk of working for a marketing agency. A client can fire you. That’s what happened. As a result, me and two of my favorite coworkers lost their jobs.
This morning, instead of speeding to beat rush hour traffic, I drove up to Carmel to collect my personal belongings and written/design work. I could tell you how wonderful and liberating it was. I’d also be lying.
My now-former coworkers were supportive and sympathetic for the most part. They want all three of us to land on our feet.
I joked with my husband that he could now tout me as his “trophy wife.” He laughed and said, while he appreciated my commitment to better mental and physical health, he didn’t really want that.
I don’t really want that either, although more time to work out is a perk.
I want to be useful. But, right now, I feel like I wasn’t useful enough to keep my job. I pitched in on so many different projects that loading my flash drive was an eye-opening experience. I didn’t realize just how many different projects I’d been a part of until confronting them on my work laptop.
Yes, I’m aware my posts on here have been sporadic in the last 18 months. That’s going to change, as I rededicate my life to finding the next great opportunity.
Yes, I’m afraid. No, this is not the worst thing to ever happen to me. I’ve been in far more dire circumstances and made it out alive.
This, like anything else, is temporary. Wearing running pants a few days a week is temporary. Not being useful is temporary.
Also, I’m probably too old to be a “trophy wife.”