Grief Stages

I just read yesterday somewhere (it was apparently the Wall Street Journal - what have I become?) that grief processing takes 2 years, no less but possibly more, no matter what. I did the math, and yep, that seems about right.

You see, in 2009 it all blew apart. The job I thought I would be able to leverage forever was "eliminated" by my big box employer. I smashed my camera, stared at the sky, accepted underemployment, and got cancer. Just last summer, I stopped shaking my fist at the building every time I drove by. Now I realize, I feel at home in the vicinity again, instead of like some unworthy interloper who had been cast out of the temple and was about to get caught bringing flower offerings to the vengeful idols.

But, out of the rubble we built new structures. I sure wouldn't wish it on anyone else (well, I do still have ONE revenge fantasy, but let's not focus on that right now) but it turned out okay. Maybe even better than okay. I no longer wish it had never happened. It's completely neutral.

That being said, I do find it interesting that losing my job was more traumatic for me than cancer. Granted, I had "easy" cancer (in fact, I read somewhere else today that it might have been advisable to have used the watchful waiting approach instead of the removal of my little thyroid gland, but now I have nuclear melt-down super powers, right?). But my image of myself as a productive member of society with a respectable job was more important to me than (the image of) my own health. Ridiculous.

So what is it about our "careers" that we are so attached to? Is it because we feel that we have built something, that all of our success is entirely due to our efforts and skills and personality? I can see that, but there's this other evidence that it's dumb luck and timing and privilege and we don't really control it much at all.

I like money. I mean, who doesn't? But I'm starting to discover the edges of what is and is not important to me. When I see those "in power" unable to see the lies they live and enforce, it makes me a little nervous. How am I participating in their delusions? Do I go through the motions, or I do perform real service?

So, I guess this is the internal ramblings of my work existential crisis. What does it all mean? Did we just show up to collect some checks? Or are we going to DO something? How can I willfully offer my whole heart and intellect, knowing that it can be thrown away on a whim?

But that's what I have to do. I have to give it my all, always. I guess the good news is, it will only take 2 years to recover.

It's like running in a circle.

I tried to apply for some more jobs last night. Same effect as before! Too chicken to hit the "Apply" button. But chicken isn't really the problem. Part of it is a fear of success, that I will actually have to go out and meet some people and go back inside.

This is not to say there aren't some applications out there, simmering. I haven't heard back yet, which seems like a good thing. Many of the other jobs I have applied for got back to me in less than 24 hours with rejections.

Today I'll have to call the old hospital, because I have to beef up my resume for federal jobs. They want MONTH and year, and I sure can't remember that much detail, along with salary, which I certainly don't remember. I watched a little video on the OPM (Office of Personnell Management) website last night, and the tiny federal man and his captions are correct - I will need to put some work into it, and therefore will get out of it what I put in.

In the mean time, we got a kitten (Mr. Sam Awesome!) but my father's long-time companion ("love of his life", he said) died. I'm ready for 2009 to turn around.