“What If I Don’t Want to Work Anymore?” An Anonymous Unemployment Story

I received this submission from someone who wanted to remain anonymous. If you’d like to contribute your own story, I welcome unemployment stories. Please contribute yours here.

Dear Reader:

I wasn’t going to tell you this, but…

I don’t want to work anymore. I’m tired. I’ve been tired for thirty-five years. Don’t get me wrong. Hard work doesn’t faze me. I can work from sun-up to sun-down and feel great at the end of the day, if the work matters. Family and friends think I left a successful career in healthcare administration for something better. A fancy consulting job, traveling to exotic places on someone else’s dime, telling people how to do their jobs. But the truth is, I want simplicity. And freedom to follow my dreams.

One morning in August 2018, I awoke at 3:00 am unable to sleep, troubled by problems at work. I was leading a large centralized credentialing department that was suddenly besieged with complaints from system executives about the length of time to onboard newly employed physicians. Recruiters gave doctors unreasonable start dates, having no notion of regulatory requirements to validate their competency. “No problem, Dr. Brown. We’d love to have you start in two weeks.” What they couldn’t grasp was it takes about forty-five days to verify a physician’s education, training and professional work history with primary sources, followed by a lengthy review and authorization by several committees. One might appreciate this vetting process, but ultimately what mattered was the revenue these doctors would generate for the company.

My boss, a brilliant intensive care physician, was young enough to be my son. Our monthly one-on-one phone meetings lasted no longer than 20 minutes. At the 19-minute mark, he’d recite “Thank you very much for all your hard work. You’re doing a great job. I really appreciate it. By the way, what is it you do again?”

For weeks, my stress level grew. On a Thursday, the boss called, as I was driving to the office: “Your department will be taking on additional responsibility.” I quickly pulled the car over to assimilate what I’d just heard. Always the optimist, I accepted the challenge, convincing myself: This is an opportunity to grow. To broaden my experience.

Re-organization, consolidation is what I do best. Bringing people together with a common goal of process improvement. But I’d later learn I wasn’t in charge. Out of nowhere, a woman, who looked to be about 24, took control. She was hired directly into a vice president position from an entirely different industry—pet stores. She flitted about the conference rooms in three-inch heels, probably Jimmy Choo or Manolo Blahnik, brands I know from watching every episode of Sex in the City. Her dimples nearly jumped off her face when she flashed that phony smile, inserting herself into other people’s business—my business, which she knew nothing about since it had nothing to do with the price of dog food.

I knew my business. To have this woman arrive on the scene in her expensive suit and high bun, questioning my experience, my intentions, and most importantly, my integrity, immobilized me. “Are you okay? Would you like to schedule a brief chat? Maybe grab a cup of coffee? Or, are you good?” was the support I got from Miss Purina Dog Chow.

My motivation waned. The prospect of my role expanding no longer energized me. Maybe I’m just old and weary. I dreamed of retiring and working part-time at Pet Market.

On a day in October, I was at my lowest, my confidence dwindling by the minute. I’d lost my appetite for life and found myself crying throughout the day, unusual for me. Who is this person in my body? I no longer knew myself or what I wanted. “I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: ‘If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?’ And whenever the answer has been ‘No’ for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.” I can’t claim this quote because it belongs to Steve Jobs, but as I contemplated leaving my job, it rang true for me.

One morning, a gift from heaven landed in my inbox–an email from the company president, conveying its financial woes and appealing to corporate leaders: “We are offering a Voluntary Severance Incentive (VSI) package to all senior leaders in an effort to improve our financial situation. If you are considering retirement or leaving the company in the near future, apply here.” In one split second, I hit the link to apply. And for nearly a year after that, I enjoyed staying home to read, write, organize my house, and bond with two grandbabies who arrived during that previous, tumultuous year. All the while receiving benefits and a paycheck!

But the year ended, and so did the income. My stomach churns at the thought of going back to work, applying make-up every morning, donning a suit and pumps, and rushing out the door, spilling coffee on my way to the car. I imagine sitting in traffic, a full agenda spinning through my head, then circling a parking garage up one floor and then another to find one last spot. Parking my car, I collect myself, take one last sip of coffee, and put on a happy face for the next ten hours, while greeted by negative vibes seeping from every corner office.

Most mornings, I sit on the patio, not caring if my coffee spills, enjoying the tranquility of my waterfall. Hummingbirds dive in at full speed to make their landing on the feeder, and just as swiftly tear away after their fill of sugar water. Oh no! Two large Gila woodpeckers have taken over! Bastards. They’re scaring away my hummingbirds! This is my worry for today. No more accreditors, regulators, 24-year old hazards. Just threats from a red-headed, striped woodpecker with a long narrow beak. Its voice rolling a churr sound: “yip, yip, yip, kee-u, kee-u, kee-u.”

Now I will pray for rain.

And I’ve got to look for a job.

Well, maybe tomorrow.