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On September 11^th, 2001, I was working at a health insurance company situated in One World Trade Center. I had been employed for over 22 years as a medical policy writer and I felt a sense of security regarding my future.

One year after the attacks, while working in temporary quarters on 26^th Street and Park Ave South, everybody in my department was pointedly asked what projects they were currently working on. I remember getting a very ominous feeling and thinking that this was a harbinger of bad things to come, yet I felt I was just too valuable to be one of those poor unfortunate souls “let go”. I was sure in for a shock when just before Thanksgiving of 2002 we were told two people in our department were going to be “laid off,” (a nice word for fired) the next day. I thought that maybe this might be a good thing since I had other endeavors that I had wanted to pursue but never had the time. However, no matter how much you fantasize about how lovely life would be if you didn’t have that long commute from N.J. to Manhattan each day and how you could “live the life you always wanted,” you are not prepared. You go through all the stages of grief: shock, disbelief, anger, depression, bargaining, and maybe finally acceptance. Then when you think you’ve accepted your fate, you do it all again.  So, after almost 23 years and at the age of 50, I found myself unemployed. I wasn’t exactly in love with my job but it gave me an “identity.”  When I lost my job I not only lost my income, I lost my whole identity. Luckily I received six months of severance and then unemployment. Yet I knew that would not last indefinitely. Fear gripped me immediately—how was I going to live? 

A year before my job loss, I had been divorced but I was still able to maintain my lifestyle. I bought out my ex-husband and retained our townhouse. I knew I’d be O.K. because I was financially independent. But that was not the case anymore and I struggled to find a job at the same salary level. Finally after much soul-searching and insanity I made the decision to move to, of all places, Augusta, GA. This was not an arbitrary move; my childhood friend lived there with her family and I was familiar with the area. I figured since my two sons were grown it would make sense. So I packed everything up and moved in March of 2003 to find a new life.

I was determined to work for myself and vowed never to be put in the position of answering to a supervisor, or being fired again. So my friend and I embarked on the glamorous world of medical billing, which did not pan out. I taught medical coding at a technical college for 6 months, hated it and switched gears to of all things, real estate, which we were fairly successful at. We attended seminar after seminar and at one point owned numerous rental properties. We also rehabbed houses which we sold for a profit. The problem with that was we became the “eviction queens” and constantly dealing with tenants took its toll on us. I could write volumes on our landlording adventures, which seem amusing now, but trust me it wasn’t at the time. We then decided to invest in a coffee house and ended up losing about $12,000. I know we could have lost more but it still stung. At this point, we have sold off all of our properties, thank God.  

I decided to get a regular J.O.B. last year and began the arduous task of job hunting. Much to my dismay, it took months but I found a position working for a diet doctor. That lasted one month. Then while working for a medical billing company I received a call about a position I had applied for months earlier. This seemed like the perfect job for me so I weighed my options and decided to take the risk and quit my current position. Needless to say, the job lasted exactly three months and suddenly, and without warning, I was told I was “not a fit” and did not “match” with the company. Here I was, in almost the same position I vowed I’d never be again with that same sense of hopelessness, loss, and resentment. I must say I had larceny in my heart.

Now, at the age of 55, I am still searching for my lost identity. I considered many different careers. I am a runner and work out every day so I considered becoming a personal trainer. I put in applications in Starbucks; I have an art background; or maybe a photographer; or maybe I’d buy a franchise with some of my IRA, and on and on, ad infinitum. I finally settled on being a personal trainer and that’s what I’m currently doing at the Family Y, receiving slave wages. But, as my best friend so wisely put it, “Be happy you’re at least receiving some sort of salary”.

I always felt that at this stage of my life I’d be settled and secure. Some days are better than others and all I need is a little smidgeon of hope, which will carry me through a few days. I’m sure I’m not the only woman in this position and I guess I’m lucky that I enjoy good health, look way younger than my age, and have a little bit of money to tide me over for the time being. I know I must maintain an attitude of gratitude; I just have to concentrate on the positive aspects and stop looking at the glass as half empty.

I am still alone (but on dating sites—a whole other blog) and sometimes I find myself envying other women who “marry well” and don’t have to worry about finances. But, on the up side, I just published a book I finished back in 2001 about the period of time spent in the most intense, insane relationship of my life, which ultimately led to the breakup of my marriage. The name of the book is Crazy in Lust and, ladies (and maybe some guys) if you’ve ever been in an insane relationship, you might identify with this book. Regardless of whether or not anyone loves this book, I know I am proud of myself for just “going for it” and revealing myself, warts and all. It has been a learning process to not expect to get my accolades from anyone else, but just from within me. Happiness is an inside job and I need to work on this daily.