Romance on the Dole?

Our eyes meet across the crowded dining room of the fancy restaurant where I'm eating the priciest entrée on the menu. Like me, he's alone. He smiles. I smile.

 

He's awfully handsome. About my age. No wedding ring on his left hand either.

 

My mind wanders to the possibilities.

 

A companion. A romance. Even . . .

 

True love.

 

My friends would be thrilled. Since I lost my job last year, I can't tell you how many people have told me that I need to find a man and get married. (Well, maybe I could tell you, but it's starting to be a big number you might not believe.)

I am not kidding. People actually say this to me. Then, they reason, I would not have to worry about a job or health insurance.

Seriously, people? You call that helpful advice?

 

Skipping the fact that marriage-as-a-ticket-to-health-insurance is a really poor basis for a union (obviously!), the reality is that being unemployed is just about the most unromantic thing in the world. I'm not saying romance is not possible, but who in their right mind can focus on being alluring and fabulous when they have more worries than money?

I'm worried about piling up bills, dwindling savings and that %$@*&# broken clothes dryer. Oh, and let's not forget I am working about 12 to 14 hours a day, six days a week to get my new business off the ground. When would I even fit in this romance?

Truth is, right now I'm more concerned with how I can shave another $10 off the grocery bill than whether or not my legs need shaving to look good in some fabulous date dress I can't even afford to buy.

Life on the dole doesn't leave much time (or energy) for flirtation.

There's also the whole issue of access. You're not likely to meet eligible, gainfully-employed, fully-insured bachelors when you lack funds for social events. These days unless he's interviewing me for a job or bagging my groceries, I'm unlikely to meet an employed man.

And, let's not forget my own lack of marketability either. What man with a fabulous job and lots of assets would want to take up with an unemployed woman? (Maybe the kind that would require a pre-nup just to go on the first date?)

The irony? I'm meeting more men than ever because I attend a large job search group. This crummy job market has hit men over 40 much harder than women. Roughly 60% of my local group are men—all unemployed like me. But, about 99% are married. The other one percent are my dad's age.

True, the rare single man near my age might darken the door.

But, if he ever did, he'd be unemployed, too, now wouldn't he?

 

And, so am I, remember?

Even if Mr. Single-and-Wonderful-Yet-Unemployed walks in the door and locks eyes with me and the bells ring and the chemistry steams up the room, then what?

We could use my cents-off coupons to pack a picnic and head to the park or occasionally hit the $1 matinee at the already-cheap theatre, I guess.

 

But, many of those on the dole are in worse shape than I am. They may have totally depleted their savings, have never-ending bills or be out of health insurance.

Mom used to tell me, "You don't need a man to be poor with—you can be poor by yourself."

Now I get it.

Being unemployed and almost broke is no fun. Being unemployed, almost broke and taking on the task of bailing out someone else who may be in worse shape than I am could be an unmitigated disaster.

Did all those helpful people who suggested I marry for health insurance consider somebody might want to marry me because I still have a roof over my head and some savings? For those who have hit bottom, maybe where I'm standing looks pretty cushy.

My mind wanders back to that handsome fellow in the restaurant. We smile at each other again. Oh, he is obviously interested.

Ssssssccccccccrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeecccccchhhhh!

Reality intrudes.

There's no fancy restaurant, no pricey entrée, no interested bachelor.

It was a dream.

That's what I get for being half-asleep while sitting in my very-early-in-the-morning weekly job search group. I knew I should've gone to sleep last night instead of looking at job postings until 1 AM.

I force my mind back to the speaker's topic—job search tips. Then, I do what I always do after those meetings: I go home, do the laundry, empty the cat litter box and wonder when I'll be fully employed again.

Romance on the dole? I don't think so. 





#   #   #


Photo Credits:

Romance in the Garden: http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/gdsXvWlg-1fODf9UV64LEQ

Wedding Cake: http://www.flickr.com/photos/kenschafer/2235114416/

Picnic: http://www.flickr.com/photos/yourdon/2819393805/sizes/l/in/photostream/

Little Girl Doing Laundry: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Little_girl_playing--doing_laundry.png

Note: All photos are for illustrative purposes only--author is not pictured.

Break, Broke, Broken

Could somebody explain one of life's great mysteries? How do appliances just know the least opportune moment to konk out?

Do manufacturers install some evil switch inside mechanical objects that program them to go ka-fluey the instant the household starts drifting toward financially broke?

Guess my dad has it figured out after all. Showing up with his handyman tools, he always jokes ,"Be sure never to mention in front of the appliances that you have no money. They'll break down for sure if they find out."

Current situation: The air-conditioner picked today to pitch a snit-fit.

I live in the Deep South. I mean, the really, really deep South. The magnolias-peaches-armadillos South. Yeah, that one. The one with months-long stretches of heat and humidity. Today's temperature: 96. (Down from the 100s last week.) Today's heat index: I don't know. Suffice it to say if I wanted to cool off, I could try some nice Southwestern desert area.

So . . .

For the third time this summer Old Faithful is not.

The good news? It only cost $85. If I'd waited, the motor would've have burned out the repair guy said. Approximate cost: $400. OK, so saving $315 makes me feel a little better. And, the repairman, who is also a friend, has been kind—his first repair was only $50; the second was free.

This month marks the eleventh month of my "work break" (AKA known as "life on the dole").

With every month that passes, my bank account dwindles a bit closer toward "broke" status.

And, not a month goes by without something in my house breaking down.

Break, broke, broken.

Yep, I am literally living the conjugation of a verb.

Remember when I told you my clothes dryer stopped working? "Super Dad" did his best, but after three days work, he declared it unfixable. No big deal. I strung up a clothes line in the garage and now I dry my clothes that way—a nice "green" alternative, with many positive benefits.

Line-dried towels? Yep, they're stiff as a board. Excellent for exfoliating the skin.

Waiting until the last minute to do laundry? No way, it takes three days to dry in this Southern humidity. I have learned to plan ahead.

Tumbling a shirt to get wrinkles out? Not possible. Ironing required. Lifting hand weights builds biceps, right? I hope no one notices that I'm only "ripped" on the right side.

True, in the beginning, there was a certain novelty about hanging up wet laundry—like getting back to nature, being "earth conscious" and all that good stuff.

However, eight months later, I can tell you the novelty has worn off—completely.

But, it's a new life experience. I've learned something along the way. That's got to be worth something.

Meanwhile, other things around the house have decided I need a few more life lessons:

The backyard water spigot leaks under my kitchen sink. I drag the hose from the front yard to water my patio tomatoes.

The toilet stopped flushing. Dad replaced the malfunctioning parts.

The bathroom faucet began dripping. Dad fixed it.

The ice maker stopped working. I repaired it myself. Yay, me!

The gutters need cleaning, but I'm not brave enough to climb a ladder against a two-story house (and I don't want Dad up there either).

The house needs to be pressure washed.

Even the car got in on the act, needing repairs totaling more than $300 in May.

"What? I thought you started your own business?" you ask. "Isn't it going well? Don't you have any money from that?"

Well, the answers are yes, yes and coming soon.

See, before you make a dime in a new venture you have to spend start-up money—all of which came from already depleted savings.

Choose one: Invest in a business that will be financially successful later on or "invest" in fixing stuff that breaks right now. The choice is obvious: right now, what Dad—or I—can't fix stays broken (unless it's a mandatory thing such as the car or air conditioning).

Indeed, I'm looking forward to the day my bank account loses its "broke" status. And, most of all I'll be glad when all the brokenness around my home can be speedily repaired.

But, in the midst of my break/broke/broken state, I still remember what's important.

I'm grateful for the break in my career that is allowing me to pursue a new path—one I've long wanted to take. Without the "opportunity" that being jobless created, I never would have taken the plunge.

I'm thankful my bank account is not truly "broke" even if it feels like it—there are still funds left for real emergencies.

But, most of all, I'm thankful that, while my house and appliances are on a breaking streak, my spirit hasn't succumbed to the same. I've never lost sight of the end game: I know that I'll eventually get my life back—and in better shape than it was before because this time I'll be my own boss.

So what if I paddle with one oar through this a sea of brokenness? Land is in sight and of one thing I am very sure:

Stuff is broken, but I am not.


#   #  #
Photo Credits:

Sun/Heat: http://www.flickr.com/photos/10752790@N02/2344662226
Clothes on Line (Note: Woman in photo is not Ariel): http://www.flickr.com/photos/60849961@N00/2733658185
Broke: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mslivenletlive/490552618/sizes/z/in/photostream/

Rewriting Titanic: “I’m the King of the World”

Remember Jack Dawson, Leonardo DiCaprio's character, in Titanic? Who can forget his iconic scene on the bow of the ship when he yells into the wind, "I'm the King of the World!"?

Now, I understand how Jack felt.

Why? Because big changes are happening rapidly in my life on the dole and rescue may be at hand. I'm ready to yell into the wind myself.

(Or, worst-case scenario, I might just be like Jack—some poor schmuck without a clue of how things end. But, I really, really, really don't think so.)

It has been pretty evident for the last 10 months, that my unemployment situation has the potential to turn into my own personal Titanic. The dole won't last forever and in spite of my all-out efforts, no lifesaving job offer is being tossed my way.

But, sometimes, when life throws a big, towering iceberg into your path, you have to trust yourself. Instead of sitting in a deck chair trusting that the S.O.S. signals will bring rescue, you take a leap of faith over the side of that sinking ship. Sure, flinging yourself into uncharted, unknown territory is full of trepidation, but passivity never saved anybody. It's better to jump clear of the disaster if you can and increase your chances of survival than to wait around to be sucked under by the behemoth on its way to the bottom of the sea.

Admittedly, you pray on the way overboard that your construction efforts have paid off; somewhere in the churning darkness below bobs that sturdy little lifeboat you've been quietly hammering away on.

Because, what we have here in this economy's big upheaval is a whole new paradigm. The old answers and solutions no longer work. There is no terra firma in sight. And, unless you take matters into your own hands, there never will be.

Let's rewind the past two months and let me tell you what I've been up to and why. While you've been reading blog posts about Mom's, Dad's and my friend's perspective about my life on the dole, I came to a decision. A tough decision, but a decision I feel great about.

But, first, a little background on the job search:

In February and early March, I experienced a tiny flurry of activity from recruiters and hiring companies, but all that activity led nowhere. Afterwards, all responses to my résumé and my networking activities totally screeched to a halt.

Nothing.

No activity whatsoever.

Not so much as one phone call.

I wanted to tap my modem and ask "Hello? Is this thing on? Is anybody out there?"

Still, I kept the faith by sending out résumés and networking, and I continued to attend a job-search group, meeting weekly with more than 100 highly-qualified job seekers like myself. I asked around. Everybody's experience was similar. While mid-level manufacturing candidates snagged a few jobs—mostly after being unemployed for a year or more—executives and management applicants had slammed into a job-search iceberg. The tallest and most massive one jarred the HR executives.

Everybody seemed to be in the same boat. (Titanic, anyone?)

Consider these stories:

I contacted my friend, Nina (remember, my well-connected HR executive friend?). Same story. No job. Trust me, if she's not getting a job with her experience, talent, personality and connections, nobody is getting a job.

I had lunch with my smart, talented, connected school friend, an out-of-work CEO. Same song, second verse.

A third desperate friend with four children and an unemployed wife found his formerly lucrative corporate career and his impressive talent could not even snag him a minimum-wage job.

I noticed an odd new trend. Yes, there were HR jobs, but all were for entry- and mid-level HR positions. Hundreds of job posts flooded the job boards: all for lower-level jobs at one-third to one-half my old salary. There were even a number of posts for unpaid HR internships.

What's this?

It appeared the executive management job market—HR or otherwise—was sinking fast.

Not one to let pride stand in the way, I immediately applied for any and all available jobs. Still, nary a nibble. Maybe application screeners figure I'll abandon ship when the economy improves. Or, maybe they look at my previous salary (a required field on many job applications), and it scares them away. Further, those jobs don't come with relocation packages and, at the proffered pay rates, I cannot afford to sell my home at a loss and move cross-country to any higher-cost-of-living area.

Meaning—at those rates, I can apply only for jobs in my area—but those remain few and far between. On any given week, I actually learn about (maybe) five HR jobs at any level in my area.

Then grim news from my professional association: there are 7,300 Georgia members who have registered their job searches with the association.

What?

And, that doesn't include Georgia HR professionals searching without registering with the association and those from other states willing to come to Georgia for work

There are 7,300+ vying for those lower-lever three to five jobs I see each week?

You don't have to be a Vegas bookie to see those are stinkin' odds, and the jobseeker is on the wrong side of the winning hand.

Then, out of nowhere: a more chilling pattern among my job-seeking friends: Those with 10 or more years of experience rarely get phone calls, losing out to less-experienced candidates.

Reality: Employers don't want those of us who might be expensive.

Then, the final iceberg crashed violently into my job search, whiplashing me into undeniable reality: I saw articles—three in a single week—about companies no longer considering unemployed applicants. Apparently, companies don't care if an applicant has been unemployed a year, six months, a week or 15 minutes—we unemployeds are "damaged goods."

The band may be playing merrily and the deck chairs arranged in perfect order, but the outcome is now clear: my job search ship is not going to make it to safe harbor.

Will I ever work again?

Will my job search last years instead of months?

What happens when my savings runs out?

As if the job market isn't depressing enough, the tiny dole checks that keep us "undesirables" afloat each week may soon be torpedoed as well. Every time Congress debates the issue, more lawmakers get testier about unemployment benefits. Now, Congress has extended the benefits until November. Ironically, benefits are set to expire again at election time.

Reality check: no job, no prospects and little hope those tiny dole checks will continue for the promised time periods.

I realize there are many things I cannot change right now:

I cannot change this rotten economy.

I cannot improve this job market.

I cannot make a hiring company realize my worth.

And, neither can my job-seeking friends.

And then I had my personal Invictus
moment: There is much I cannot change, but I'm still "the master of my fate: the captain of my soul." I will no longer sit quietly in the deck chair trusting in the rules and waiting for an unknown somebody to rescue me.

I'm ready to do now what it takes to rescue myself.

In the Depression, my grandfather fished and gigged frogs to supply a restaurant while my grandmother cooked for a boardinghouse and helped him gather Spanish moss to sell to a mattress company. I would just have to figure out the modern day equivalent of those down-and-out enterprises that kept them afloat.

Comments made to me before I left my previous job began to bob about in my mind:

"Why don't you start a business and hire us to work for you?" a co-worker suggested.

"I think you should start your own business," a business associate told me.

"When you get ready to start your own company, send me your business cards and I'll share them with my clients," another business associate offered.

"No, no," I replied each time it was suggested. "I need a 'real' job with benefits. I cannot let myself get distracted by thoughts of my own business. I need a regular full-time job."

Sure, I briefly thought about the self-employment possibility. It actually was Plan E on my list of options. I met with a CPA. I explored the possibilities. I networked with friends who own businesses. But, I wasn't serious about the idea, because I thought I couldn't afford to be.

It's not as if I am naïve about what goes into being a business owner. My parents have had their own businesses—three of them. I saw that for them it was an incredible amount of hard work and frequent stress. It's just not the easiest way to earn a living.

But, I've thought about it off and on for the last 20 years. I even took a entrepreneurial class in graduate school, but I put the dream behind me because—at that time—I didn't yet have the necessary business experience. It was an idea to save for the future.

I launched my traditional career. I had a good job with a great paycheck and benefits. You don't quit a good job to start your own business.

Wait!

What?

Right, you don't quit a job to start your own business.

But, what if the job quits you?

I realized it's now or never.

I made the decision. I will start my own business. That is the modern-day equivalent of my grandparents' Depression-era strategies.

What will it be?

How will I make it on my own?

Is there any way I can help my job-seeking friends at the same time?

Will it end in wild success or be a catastrophic disaster like Jack Dawson's Titanic experience?

I have no idea. I just know I'm committed to the idea and ready to make the sacrifices necessary to make it happen. Preparing for this in the last few weeks, I've worked harder than I've ever worked in my life while constructing my secret rescue vehicle. I have yet to receive a paycheck. But, thus far, I'm loving every minute.

This plan could indeed turn out to be my lifeboat—the one I'm building with my own two hands.

And, that's why, unlike poor, doomed Jack who never saw reality coming, I actually could turn out to be "King of the world." 

#  #  #
Just for Fun: Revisit Titanic's "King of the World" moment:

#  #  #
And for More Fun:
 


















#  #  #


Photo credits:

King of the World: http://www.flickr.com/photos/wsh1266/2602898490/

Titanic's Lifeboat: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Titanic-lifeboat.gif

Titanic in Harbor: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Titanic.jpg

Iceberg: http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/B1b8L6cjDxPsYWUPNKxq-A

Titanic Painting: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:St%C3%B6wer_Titanic.jpg

Titanic Survivors: http://bit.ly/aUS4wt

My Own Personal Invictus: Then and Now

ONE YEAR AGO:

July 21, 2009 e-mail to friends: "It's finally official. I've been given the word I will no longer be employed after September 30 . . . In some ways, I'm relieved to be 'set free', but in other ways I do have concern about the future . . . Very mixed feelings . . . Quite frankly, it's a huge relief to just know what's going to happen. I have basically been in limbo since last November so just knowing—even if the news is not great—is better than limbo. Please keep me in your prayers as I figure out what's next in this adventure that is my life! It will be exciting . . . "

And, so went the e-mail sent to my closest friends one year ago today when I definitely knew my job was gone and my earnings—at least for the foreseeable future— would be the dole.

From November 2008, when I learned this outcome was likely, to the day the fateful news was finally delivered was torture. I was a wreck—a big ball of worry and stress—wondering if I would have a job and what the future held for me. All the while, as part of executive management, I was forced to plaster on a fake smile and play a key role in the operational transition I knew would lead to my own job loss.

Like my father, I've always been a planner.

Like my father, I don't like surprises.

Like my father, I like to know what will happen next.

In those hectic days when I had a career, my friends used to laugh when I penciled in "spontaneous times" on my daily planner. "We'll meet at 6 PM," I used to say. "And, we'll be spontaneous until 11 PM, and casual clothes will be required." (And, no, I'm not kidding. I have actually said this.)

I mean it when I say I am a planner. Seriously.

Being unemployed at all was not in my plan. No way.

 

Being unemployed for 10 months with no end in sight? Inconceivable.

It's been 10 long months since my final work day and—more importantly—my final paycheck.

At times the uncertainty has been overwhelming.

There've been bleak moments, too: when appliances died; when my 2009 tax return dictated paying twice as much in taxes as the entirety of my 2010 dole checks; and when I received rejection e-mails turning me down for jobs for which I knew I was a perfect fit.

But, bleakness has been the rare exception rather than the rule.

Before living on the dole, I prided myself on being a little cynical and slightly cranky. Of all the things that I've learned during this time, the thing that has surprised me the most is that—dare I say it?—I'm an optimist. Yes, after a lifetime of being told how like my father I am, I have discovered in myself that undeniable bit of my mother: optimism. Who would have thought it?

Could it be that I'm turning into the person I used to be in my pre-employment days? The pre-career days before I became a stressed-out mess trapped in an office prison and tasked with handling other people's problems, mismanagement and bad judgment?

And, the farther away I get from one of my biggest life crises to-date, I realize I'm daily becoming even more optimistic and excited about what my future may hold—in spite of all the job search futility, dole checks, broken appliances and frequent setbacks that have happened in the past 10 months.

With each passing day, I see a clearer reflection of the woman who emerged from the shadow of that stressed-out employee who received that bad news on July 21, 2009. I feel my "unconquerable soul" marching bravely—and, dare I say it, happily—into the unknown. 

And, it actually feels these days as if I'm on the brink of reclaiming my life. Not the structured (and strictured) one I had before but a better one: a life purposely shaped by me instead of one shaped by others around me.

Yes, I have experienced my own personal Invictus, learning that, indeed, I must be "master of my own fate":

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

 

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

—William Ernest Henley (1849–1903)

# # #

Photo credits:

Ship in Storm: http://bit.ly/9qq52w

Sea Storm: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Vernet,_Claude_Joseph_-_A_Seastorm_-_1752.jpg

Ship Captain: http://bit.ly/agTh38

That’s a Lovely Dress You’re Wearing, Miss Scarlett

I have a hard time accepting help.

No, I mean, I really, really have a hard time accepting help. 

Like Scarlett O’Hara, I’ll flounce grandly about in drapery dresses before letting anybody guess I need help.

All my life I’ve helped people. Maybe it’s in my DNA—a personality trait inherited from altruistic forebears. Once, I took a personality assessment and was nearly off the charts for helping others. It isn’t just what I do; it’s who I am.

My family was a strong influence. My grandfather worked multiple jobs during the Depression to support five families. My grandmother visited the sick and cooked for others even as she was dying of cancer. My parents are also givers and helpers.

Until I started living on the dole, I didn’t think much about my volunteerism or donations. I did for others because helping makes me happy.

Now, I’m on the dole. There’s not much to share. I can’t give money because I have none. In short, my charitable usefulness is diminished. Instead, I find myself—to my horror—on the receiving end of help—a peculiar situation indeed.

And, I still do not, repeat, do not, like it.

In recent weeks you’ve read my parents’ take on my situation. Here’s mine:

My “Super” Dad was always the first to look over broken stuff at my house, but in the old days when I had money, if it required more than a simple fix, I would tell him I would call the plumber, carpenter, electrician or other repairman. Mostly, he advised and I’d take it from there.

Yet, last December, it troubled me to watch my 68-year old father with bum knees and arthritic hips down on the cold garage floor trying to repair my dryer—for days. I wanted to say, “Don’t bother with it. I’ll call the repairman.” Instead, I bit back my words and let him work while I cooked him dinner. It wasn’t much, but it was all I could offer.

Since my late twenties, my parents and I have gone to dinner “Dutch treat.” However, now that I’m on the dole, they insist on paying. At first, we’d squabble about the bill;  I told them I could still pay my way if we went out only occasionally.

More than once, Mom said, “Stop being silly. We want to see you, and we’re perfectly capable of paying. You can take us out when you get a job.”

Each time I accepted their generosity I was uncomfortable. Still, I reasoned  I would have a new job soon; my freeloader status was only temporary.

But, the thing about parents is how wily they are. To avoid the who’s-paying hassle, Mom mostly suggests a restaurant farther away. She knows I’ll drive us in my fuel-efficient car, and I won’t make a fuss about the bill if I drive.

“We’ll get this,” she says as she grabs the check. “It makes up for the gas.”

I’ve figured out that trick. Now when we eat out, I don’t argue because I understand it’s important to them to do this. It makes them feel as if they’re doing something useful. Yet, I can’t help who I am; Mom told me yesterday that I still wince as though I’m about to be hit every time the server asks if it will separate bills or all on one.

And my parents aren’t the only ones accommodating my circumstances. When my college roommate (last week’s guest blogger), told me not to buy her eight-year-old son a Christmas present, I felt awful. Still, I appreciated her understanding . She’s been a supportive friend during my joblessness.

The list of those who have given to me goes on and on. Here are a few examples:

Mom’s longtime friend suggested that Mom and I join her and her daughter for a home-cooked lunch at her house.

A friend about to be married asked if, to avoid the expense of a bridesmaid gown, I’d prefer keeping the guest book. (I did.)

Another friend suggested dinner with a “buy-one-get-one-free” coupon. Then she grabbed the check, telling me she was the “buy one” and I was the “free one”.

A CPA friend bought my lunch—saying I could reciprocate when I found work—and put me in touch with other contacts I could call to try to network some contract work.

A business contact became a friend as she encouraged me, took me to networking events, offered free use of her copier and office space, and in general, made my job search easier.

I’m blessed with people who care. But, I’m still me, and I can’t shake that tendency to minimize my challenges by saying with a smile: “Well, it’s tough, but I’ll get through it.”

Maybe I really do suffer from Scarlett O’Hara Syndrome—the affliction that causes strong women to sew drapes into dresses just to appear to be keeping it all together in tough circumstances. Even if our bellies are filled with shriveled radishes, we maintain the illusion that all is well and thanks-so-much-but-I-don’t-need-any-help.

I’m not sure if I will ever be 100 percent comfortable receiving help. Hugs, encouragement and emotional support are easiest to accept. Work, money and restaurant meals are another matter. But I am learning. I really am.

I keep telling myself others need to help—just as I needed to help back when I had money.

When I won’t accept help, am I withholding myself from them?

Is it selfish to be unwilling to be emotionally vulnerable enough to accept help?

Is it arrogant?

Am I depriving them of the opportunity to feel good about themselves?

Is it just another way of saying, “I’m awesome. Let me be the strong one. Let me be your benefactor, but you can never be mine”? 

I’m learning it’s important to receive the love, understanding, support and help that  friends and family want to share. It makes me human. And, maybe that’s the hardest part of all.

Still, in the end, even tough Miss Scarlett knew where to go for help: “What is there to do? What is there that matters? . . . Home. I'll go home.”

And, even if it’s hard to accept help, home is what I want, too. Home is not a geographical place—it’s my family and friends. It’s their love. It’s where I keep everything that matters most to me.

#  #  #

Just for Fun: Check Out Miss Scarlett’s Drapery Dress in Gone With the Wind:

#  #  #

And For Even More Fun: Check Out Carol Burnett in “Went with the Wind, Part 2”:

#  #  #

And, a Bit More Fun:

# # #
Photos courtesy of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) (public domain)

What Do You Say to a Friend?

By Guest Blogger: "Martha," Ariel's college roommate and close friend

 

What do you say to a single friend you've known for more than 20 years when she has lost her job—her only source of income? What do you say to that same unemployed friend who has always been employed and has worked her way up to a great job? What do you tell that friend who had her foot poised on the next rung of the corporate ladder?

 

"It will be okay. . ."

 

"God has a plan. . ."

 

"It could be the best thing that ever happened to you. . ."

"God uses these times to test our faith and teach us. . ."

 

"Just think how God will help you grow through this experience. . ."

"Just be glad you knew in advance so that you could plan ahead for the change in income. . ."

 

After Ariel lost her job, I struggled with what to say that would ease the blow and help and support her as she faced uncertain days. All the phrases above sounded pretty cliché and didn't seem to be appropriate (even though I still said many of them, I'm ashamed to say).

 

Now, upon reflection, I realize that I should have handled things differently. After some pretty devastating personal events in my own life (not job related), I heard some of the same clichés from both friends and family.

I just wanted to scream at them and say, "NO IT WILL NOT BE OK!!! I DON'T CARE WHAT GOD IS TRYING TO TEACH ME!!! WHY ME?!?!? WHY AM I BEING PUNISHED?!? I HAVE ALWAYS TRIED TO DO THE RIGHT THING!!! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!?!?"

I wonder now if Ariel secretly wanted to yell any of those heart-wrenching words at me each time we hung up the phone. If so, I can only ask her forgiveness.

I wish I had just said, "No, it's not OK. It's hard. You'll have to struggle. I don't know what to do to help. But, I will be here for you."

 

Sometimes, I'm learning that simple honesty and a willingness to listen and be leaned on are the best ways to help a friend who needs you.

As the months have passed since Ariel's job loss, I have noticed some differences in our relationship. In the past, because of her busy work schedule, I had to make appointments just to talk with Ariel. (No, I'm not kidding). We would email several times to find a suitable time for both of us and finally connect by phone. And, always, as we were talking, Ariel was on her way to or from work, to or from meetings. Now, I can expect to find Ariel at home almost any time I call. I still have to be careful of my timing in case there is a phone interview on the calendar, but at least I know where she is.

 

It's also interesting how our topics of conversation have changed. We still share personal things (not to be mentioned here), but now, instead of talking about the latest trendy restaurants that Ariel has tried, she is sharing recipes with me and chattering excitedly about her herb garden and homegrown tomatoes that will be ready soon. It seems that in her efforts to save money during these lean financial times, Ariel has become quite a good cook and gardener.

Instead of visiting and heading to a pricey restaurant for lunch, we choose homemade pizza topped with herbs from Ariel's garden and fresh vegetables from a local farmer's market. My son had no complaints, by the way, and LOVED Ariel's pizza that she served when we last visited.

(Food has always been an important "ingredient" in my relationship with Ariel. When we first met, we bonded over homemade goodies sent to us by our moms during final exam week at college. All our friends were still studying, but finals were over for both of us. There we were with care packages filled with homemade pound cake, cookies, bread and other goodies. Ordered out of our rooms by our (then) roommates who had to study, we met in the hallway each holding our care packages, found a place to sit and began to dig in. And, now, more than 20 years later, we still enjoy being together and eating yummy food.)

Any friend who can stay friends with me for more than 20 years is someone worth keeping. Ariel is a friend like that. I fully expect our friendship to last many more years. So, Ariel, the best I can tell you is that this time in your life right now is hard. I know you are hurting and confused. But, God heals in HIS time, and works through events to make us more like Christ. This is often a very long and painful process. It's just plain hard when you're going through it. But, God is there. Trust that HE cares and that HE won't let you down.

And most of all . . .

 

I didn't say it in the beginning, but I want to say it now, "No, it's not OK. It's hard. You'll have to struggle. I don't know what to do to help. But, I will be here for you."



# # #

Photo Courtesy of: http://bit.ly/9KhcCK (Note: Not Ariel and Martha)