2 years and some nickels & dimes ago, I set foot in the Land of Oz. Life since then has been a series of exciting occurrences in a circus of events.
Flashback to June 30, 2009 when the company announced lay offs due to the Global Financial Crisis (GFC) and I was given an hour’s notice. Flashback to Jan 3, 2010 where 2 hours after I walked into work, the company announced they would close in 3 days. Flashback to May 6, 2010 where we were given 1¾ month’s notice that the company would close down by June 30, 2010. Things are looking up indeed! The notice period is getting longer!
Anguishing over the GFC to create distributed responsibility and bring some solace of rationale to the situation is like beating a dead horse. So we quickly move on to the next stage after blame.
There is a different sense of camaraderie that results when all employees are adrift as one in an ocean of despair. The visible wreckage becomes living caricature of a painting of misery-loving-company. We were assaulted with sympathy from total strangers offering words of comfort to kindle some dim glimmer of hope.
For my circumstance, the Phenomenon of Habituation had set in. Technically, it is defined as a decrease in response to a stimulus after repeated presentations. E.g., we pay less attention to a new ring tone once it becomes familiar. It’s a fancy name for “you’ll get used to it.” Sigh! What are the chances of being employed in series inside a narrow time-window with companies that eventually close down? The 3rd time’s a charm and habituation has insinuated itself into my psych.
I am now underwhelmed. This is a storm in a teacup.
For a migrant, the environment shapes you. Finding opportunities to shape your environment is an uphill battle especially if the migrant has no extensive network to speak of. I’ve had my share of advice as to why it’s a loosing battle and to just go with the herd of migrants winding up in the sty of thankless underpaid jobs in this new land of promise. The person who says it can’t be done shouldn’t deter the person getting it done or trying to [get it done.] On the other hand, how does one discern good advice from really good advice?
I am blessed with a mentor who actually walks the talk. An overachiever of sorts, with what appears to be a very successful career, who is not content with the status quo or the mediocre. Res Ipsa. Loquitor – Latin for “the thing speaks for itself.” I hope to get a leg up into the market, through his guidance, to navigate out of the side road into the main highway of career as well as independent contracting. Two years of disambiguation (aka trial & error) can be quite taxing.
Ambition aka directional malcontent
We don’t reach for the easy stuff. We go for things out of reach. So the journey continues… forever. The pocketful of dreams refuses to sink. As I look at the past in my rear view mirror while continuing to drive forward, I firmly believe that life throws a curve our way for a reason and only what we can handle. History is a great guide but its not gospel truth. As the saying in investments goes: the trend is your friend until its end. So after countless genuflections at the altar of employers resulting in aspiration regret, the trend hopefully has taken a turn for the better. A friend trend indeed as I join another organization in the Land of Oz. Reading the tea leaves, tarot cards and palm lines show that the tipping point may have arrived! The trend has ended. And while it looked bleak, a dim glimmer of hope has taken form.
This reminds me of the parable of the dung: a cow dunged on a bird during winter but the dung kept the bird warm; a fox removed the dung and ate the bird. So if someone shits on you, it doesn’t mean he’s an enemy; and if someone gets you out of shit, it doesn’t mean he’s a friend. The trend was my friend.
A few months back was my birthday. Having crossed over the half-a-century mark is evidenced by the lines of sunshine beginning to etch across my face, adding accent to the crow’s feet around the eyes. I was plagued with the thought of what to wish for and couldn’t think of anything. So I wished that nothing changes: that I continue to be oppressed by the tyranny of love; that my wife continues to be eye candy; and that the pregnant look I have sprouted after having sworn off smoking & drinking the past 6¾ months does not diminish view value.
The search continues to recreate identity to once again become its prisoner.
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