what it's like now

Five years ago, I left the company -- the one I had once loved -- for the unknown. I was suddenly no longer blue. I was also unemployed - I was in such a hurry to get out that I hadn't given a lot of thought to what was next. I couldn't until I'd calmed down a bit.

To be honest, I've never looked back in wistfulness or regret. Sure, there were years that I loved being there, years when recruiters would call and I would say "I'm honored but no thanks." But in the end, it was time to go. I knew it then, I know it now. I've never missed the place that I left, just the place that was years before.

And then, as I kept up with my friends, I realized how increasingly miserable the place became. Some of the stalwart rocks left for greener pastures. My buddies who were still there seemed more depressed each time I talked to them. Some of them seemed completely incapacitated. I'd nudge gently, but never push -- you can't go until you're ready.

Until, of course, someone else is ready for you to go. This year already, more of my friends are no longer blue. There have been two huge waves; I assume there will be more within a few months. Suddenly, my friends are out in the bright daylight, blinking, and pondering what's next, wondering how they'll get a job in this difficult climate.

I had lunch with one of them yesterday. I had thought it would be a friendly catch-up with a little job-related encouragement thrown in. He read it as an "informational interview" and a "networking opportunity," which was fine. This happened a few weeks ago with another friend. I'll probably follow up with both as I hear of jobs that are appropriate for them.

In any case, the conversation was rather interesting. My friend went on about how it seemed like the company had stopped caring -- about the product and the employees. They had sent an important nugget of the product overseas for maintenance, something of an outrage for people who care about the product. Management had said that other interesting jobs would be found for those who had worked on the nugget. At this point, my friend complained "but they didn't *want* to work on anything else." And so it went.

And he's probably right. People making those decisions Did. Not. Care. about the effect of those decisions on the lives of the workers. They cannot allow themselves to care when they cut highly-paid, once-valued workers from the payroll. The difference is that I see that as reality; he is shocked and offended at the thought.

And then my friend mused aloud about his next job. He said that he'd always assumed that if you wanted to get the work done, you hired a contractor. If you wanted to engage someone, get someone who was creative and would take the product to the next level, you hired a permanent person. I had to break it to him that you don't go to interviews talking about your passions and about how wonderful a job can be for you. You always have to think -- both before the job offer and after -- about what the company can gain from you.

I felt like the doomsayer from hell. I felt like the most negative nabob. I felt like a realist. I still believe it's possible to be satisfied in a job. I think it's possible to find good bosses and even decent companies. But I also think you can never let go of the fact that you're a commodity in a hot market. The moment you fall behind, someone else (heck, ten people) are willing to take your place.

I'm hoping that these waves of unemployed people find meaningful work. We're all still relatively young, sharp, and capable. But the climate has changed dramatically in the last few decades and if you haven't been paying attention, it's a bit of a shock. And I fear this situation will continue for a while longer. Sad times.