The moment I knew I’d found the right job

[Monirul Islam]

Laid off creative director Kate Kemp starts her new role, and soon after suffers a personal tragedy that helps her see her job choice in a new light. This is the final installment in a 13-part series.

If you'd asked me how I felt about getting laid off from my job in New York the week after it happened, I would've served up a four-letter-word-infused answer with a big ol' side of bitterness. Ask me today (83 days after my tearful night in Times Square), and I'll gush about it being the best thing that ever could have happened to me.


Kate Kemp

I'm certain that some recently unemployed readers are currently rolling their eyes and groaning at that last line. I know this because, at first I had the same reaction to anyone who tried to tell me that it would all work out for the best.

The first week or so after a layoff isn't really much different than the first week or so after a major breakup. Feelings of rejection? The same. Switching from a desire to cry to a desire for vengeance? The same. An insatiable appetite for entertaining distractions and mood-altering ice cream concoctions? Definitely the same.

Likewise, the feelings you have when you start a new romance are very similar to those you have when you finally start a new job. In both scenarios, your body actively releases a chemical cocktail of dopamine, adrenaline and serotonin into your brain. In other words, whether you're googly eyed over a new partner or a new job, it's mostly because you're doped up on free chems courtesy of your very own body. (Thanks for the hookup, neurotransmitters!)

This temporary state of euphoria will fade away anywhere from two to three months after a new relationship—or in this case, job—begins. That's why it's so important to try and find a company you can love long-term, and a job that will give back to you as much as you give to it.

I was smitten with my new job as Group Creative Director at HackerAgency in Seattle from the moment I set foot in the door, but it wasn't until a pitch meeting in Dallas—set to the backdrop of an extremely trying life event—that I knew I'd found a keeper.

IT REALLY DID ALL HAPPEN FOR A REASON
The phrase "everything happens for a reason" gets thrown out a lot. Usually, it irritates the crap out of me. But, a couple of months in to my new job, no other phrase fit the situation better.

In late August, I started working on a new business pitch for a potential client in Dallas, Texas— my hometown. Being part of the pitch team at my new Seattle-based agency meant a lot of work, but it also meant I'd get to see my family for the first time in almost a year.

I arrived at DFW airport the Sunday before the pitch and demanded my family take me to Matt's Rancho Martinez, home of the Bob Armstrong Dip® (aka the best queso ever created in the history of time). With our bellies uncomfortably filled with magical Tex-Mex, my brother drove me back to the hotel where I wrote this article about my brief stint as a yoga studio employee.

Before calling it a night, I switched into sleuth mode, noting any important announcements about the company and clients I'd meet the next day, then rehearsed my part in the pitch a few more times.

Early the next morning, I woke to an unexpected phone call from my mother. My 93-year-old grandfather (her dad) was in the hospital after a heart attack and, by the tone of Mom's voice, I knew things were serious. Although Papaw was in a stable condition, it was unclear how long he'd stay that way. The doctors were running tests and, until those results came back, there was no real way to know how bad it all was. She promised to keep me updated and, at her request, I promised to try and stay focused on the pitch until I had a reason not to. We'd been through a few hospital scares with Papaw before and, at this point, there was still hope that he'd bounce back from this one just like he'd done in the past.

The pitch went well that day. Our potential new clients were engaged. The chemistry was strong. And my team left knowing that, whatever the client's decision might be, we'd done our best and were proud of the work we'd shared.

Then, on the post-pitch car ride back to the hotel, I got a text from my brother asking me to call him as soon as I could. I was sure he'd tell me Papaw was gone, but I wasn't ready to hear that yet, so I just responded with: "I should stay in Dallas vs taking my plane home tonight, shouldn't I?" He said yes.

While the rest of the team laughed and debated about where to grab a bite before flying back to Seattle, I sat in the front seat trying to keep it together. My teammates knew what was going on and, as soon as I was able to share my text exchange without bawling, I did.

"Guys," I said, my voice defying my decision to sound calm and collected and instead shaking uncontrollably, "I just heard from my brother and ... I think Papaw is gone but he doesn't want to tell me through text," I used all my remaining energy to keep the pool of tears from pouring down my cheeks, "No one is really telling me anything. But I think I need to stay in Dallas at least tonight."

In a beautiful response that made not crying even harder, the CEO immediately sent a note to his assistant requesting she help me coordinate a new flight back whenever I was ready and told me to take whatever time I needed.

Despite the terrible situation, his action reinforced that I'd joined the right company. Not every busy CEO would've been empathetic enough to offer me a spot in his support net. But this one did. And, in this moment, I needed all the support I could get.

ACCEPT THE MOMENT AND PREPARE FOR WHAT'S NEXT
If I learned nothing else from my post-layoff situation, it's that you cannot prepare for everything. Sometimes, you just have to accept the moment and decide how to react once you're in it. But, when I finally went to see Papaw in the hospital, I'm not sure that anything could've prepared me for all the tubes and bags putting things into or taking things out of a man I'd previously convinced myself was invincible. This DIY-obsessed man insisted (and subsequently tried to prove) that everything could be fixed with a table saw, some rope, a drill and a bucket of screws. Sadly, everyone knew nothing in his massive tool chest could help him now.

Earlier that morning I'd been in presentation mode, selling a creative, direct marketing strategy alongside our CEO and a few other incredibly talented colleagues. Now, I was taking the lid off an ice cream cup I'd then spoon-feed to a dying man I loved. This was new territory for me.

But then, so were a lot of things I'd been exploring over the last few months. And I knew that, after years of supporting her dad despite her own failing health, Mom was simply too exhausted to do it herself.

As I scooped out Papaw's first bite, Mom removed his mask. It was the first time I'd ever seen my grandfather without his false teeth. So fragile. So tired. So ... real. I attempted to hide my fear and sadness behind a smile, flashing back to the summer when we convinced everyone we needed to regularly restock his milk and bread supply from Braum's as a clever excuse for the two of us to eat ice cream sundaes together once a week.

Later, my aunt playfully pretends to be upset that Papaw didn't offer to share his ice cream with her. Papaw playfully retorts that she's "too fat for any more ice cream!" We'll all laugh because we all believe that, by the time you get to 93 and are going on your 3rd or 4th heart attack, that whole D.B.A.A. rule simply doesn't apply anymore.

I saw Papaw one more time before heading out to catch a flight back to Seattle. As I kissed his forehead, the tears I'd fought so hard to hold in finally escaped. We were both fully aware the "I love you"s exchanged in this moment would be our last. It took all I had to keep my composure until I got downstairs where I collapsed into my father's arms, releasing soul-crushing sobs that shook my entire body against his.

Two weeks later, I'd get the call I'd expected every time my phone rang.

Papaw was gone.

YOU CAN'T TAKE IT WITH YOU, BUT MAYBE YOU CAN GIVE IT TO OTHERS
The support I received from colleagues the week I returned to the office was beautiful. My inbox filled with emails from those who'd also lost loved ones. My calendar filled with coffee invitations. And a couple of art directors on my team promoted themselves to "Make Kate Laugh Directors," sharing goofy creations that reminded me how lucky I was to have joined a company with people who truly support each other.

My journey from an overwhelmed, unemployed creative director in New York to joyous group creative director in Seattle wasn't easy. There were times I truly believed depression would completely take over and I'd fulfill the prophecy I often joke about (wandering the streets angrily shouting things like "KPI!" and "PURCHASE DECISION JOURNEY!" to inanimate objects).

If you've recently lost a job, you might feel the same way. Don't let the negative energy win. It's so close to the positive energy from excitement and anticipation that you can fake your emotions out, redirecting it from a downward spiral into something that propels you upward with more force than you could ever imagine. So take a little time to recover, then convince yourself that you deserve better.

Through this 13-piece series, I've bared it all. It wasn't always easy. Sometimes I was scared to be so honest. But the thing that kept me going throughout every submission was the hope that my words would help at least one other unemployed person feel a little less crazy ... that feeling scared, angry, anxious and depressed was not only OK, it was normal. And that, most importantly, you're not alone.

I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to contact me about one of my articles, reinforcing that this wasn't just a hope, but a reality. You showed me that we all have the power to help people—even strangers we'll likely never meet in person. And I hope you know that, even when you're in your lowest point, your experiences give you the power to help others, too.

I learned a lot from my grandfather. In addition to teaching me the proper way to buy my milk and bread, he consistently encouraged me to get out and explore new things—even if he did jokingly call me "one-a-them damn Yankees" when I moved to New York. Although he doesn't know it, his illness and subsequent death showed me the incredible character of the colleagues I'd chosen to move across the country to join.

Source: https://www.monster.com/career-advice/article/life-after-layoffs-found-right-job-0816