Pardon Me: May I Give You A Weather Update?

Stranger in a Strange Land – No. 14
s tornadoes ripped through the country last week, each new wave of storm cells sounded the alarms here in the Horse Capital of the World. But not in the way the Windy City warned its citizenry of pending terror and danger.

In the Windy City, you couldn’t not hear the alarms. They sounded like a fire engine siren—only much louder and much more annoying.

Here in Horseyland, though, the acoustics have to be just right for you to understand what you’re hearing—that is, IF you even heard it. The warning system here is more like the ice-cream truck we had in our old neighborhood, only here it’s more polite. It’s a chime that plays several measures of music. Then someone tells us a storm is near (someone who sounds suspiciously like a political candidate trying to get votes through a bullhorn in a parade). Only not that loud or adamant. Just nice.

It’s all niceness and civility here. Which is probably not the best tactic to use when attempting to protect people from imminent disaster, but in almost all other cases, it’s mighty refreshing.

This is part of an ongoing series regarding my transition from the Land of Lincoln to the Bluegrass State. For a list of previous articles in the series, type Stranger in a Strange Land into Lull’s search function on the right.

[Drop cap by Jessica Hische; illustration depicts Aeolus, Greek god of wind.]

I Scream, Therefore I…

Two months ago I yelled at someone over the phone. I can’t remember exactly what I said—something along the lines of “Stop talking and listen to me.” Only in all caps, full volume: “STOP TALKING AND LISTEN TO ME!”

It was one of those moments you’ve probably experienced yourself at work with a boss or colleague. You’re discussing the schedule for some huge project and the boss makes a statement that’s unfounded and untrue about one of your deadlines. You interject to set the record straight, but the boss keeps speaking, extrapolating out the consequences of the “problem” you’ve caused and he’s condescending and righteous in tone and won’t let you get a word in because he never once pauses in his diatribe—just continues talking AT you and OVER you and THROUGH you.

So I screamed. I did the thing most of us want to do in such circumstances (sans the strangling—I was on a phone, after all) and yet it didn’t make me feel any better. Just different.

I’ve never screamed at anyone before. I’ve raised my voice in passionate discourse, but never aimed it AT someone. I’ve always attempted civility and control in my communications.

Now it feels as if some part of me escaped with that scream. Some important piece of my identity flew into the ether, never to return.

I don’t know what I lost, but without it, I’m not who I was.

[Art from Maxamania.]

My Year of Unenjoyment

This week marks the one-year anniversary of my getting the boot from my job of 12 years. I kept working for the company until January 30, to "help them through the transition." But during that time I was neither a full employee nor an unemployed one. Just a hard-working outsider.

We've heard all sorts of horror stories about layoffs, like the manager who set off the fire alarm in order to corral his staff in the parking lot and give them the boot en masse. So I have to admire the owner of my company for allowing the employees he chose to keep to go to a nearby saloon with the employees he'd just let go. Everyone had a chance to graciously say goodbye to one another.

On the other hand, I may be the only person who's been laid off by a CEO and then pulled into his office later the same day because he couldn't wait to tell me how the new structure was going to work. How he was going to meld editorial staffs from different divisions into one cohesive unit, how he would be editorial director of all, how he would turn it into a news bureau of reporters (his dream had long been to have his own newspaper-ish organization—this at a time when nearly every newspaper in the country was failing).

He was genuinely excited about the prospect and eager for me to share in the thrill. I was aghast at his insensitivity to my own future outlook. All I could muster was, "I always wanted to have a reported newsletter in my division. I'm sorry I won't be here when it finally happens."

I suppose he did me a favor, however unintentionally. I have a hard time dealing with mercurial behavior in people who hold powerful positions. Or I used to. This has become one of the lessons—and blessings—from my year of unenjoyment: that my standards and expectations of civility are not always shared by others. The sooner I'm not affected by these differences, that I don't make them so important in my life, the better.

"We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures."
—Thornton Wilder

This Thanksgiving is not as grim as last year's. After a year of reflection, I find it easier to let go of the disappointments and anguish (though not to forget them). I now look forward to whatever future awaits. I'm still anxious about it, but I'm not pining after the worklife I had where I had it.

I'm thankful for this change of perspective, and to my friends, family, readers, and colleagues who have supported me during the transformation.

A Most Happy Thanksgiving to You!