Another year, another month, another day, and more of the same. Please don't ask me how I'm doing.

Technically, I've now been in California for six months, but let me cheat a bit and say I've only been in California for one month.  I'm not counting the five weeks I was in Hong Kong or the 2 months I was laid up due to hip surgery.  On bad days, I won't count the three weeks I stayed with Auntie H in Sacramento either.  Therefore, by my adjusted count (this is the rationale by which economists provide forecasts, which is why they are rarely ever accurate), I've REALLY only been in California for a month.  Even if it feels like it's been forever.

I mean, my job search feels like it's taken forever, even though it hasn't.  PW warned me about this.  She said that if I dragged it out and went on and off in spurts, I would eventually burn out.  As always, she's right.  Even though I haven't been aggressive about looking for work and haven't been proactive about networking or applying for jobs until I moved to the East Bay in March, I feel like I've been looking for work forever.  It causes me a lot of anxiety.

Anxiety which is driven in part by the fact that I lost all my unemployment benefits when I left NYC because I also left behind a part time job that paid approximately $100/wk before taxes.  In the eyes of the Department of Labor, I voluntarily left employment, so I'm now ineligible for unemployment benefits.  In reality, I had been laid off from a six figure job and worked part time so I could continue to feel like a productive member of society.  I made a maximum of $100/wk before taxes, or about $70/wk after taxes, which didn't even cover my weekly groceries much less my monthly rent of $2,600.  When I wrote the Department of Labor explaining that: 1) it was a part time job that paid up to $400/mo, 2) I had moved to California, and 3) I was dedicating my efforts to look for full time employment, I received a ruling that said that my reasons were not valid enough to leave my part time job.  But, I digress.

My anxiety which is also driven by the knowledge that I'm operating without a safety net not only on the monetary front, but also on the social front.  I just don't know that many people here -- I don't have many friends or professional contacts in northern California.  I spend my days asking the few people I do know who they know that I might be able to speak with.  And, when I meet with those people, I ask them to provide names and suggestions on more people to speak with.  I play six degrees of separation, but instead of Kevin Bacon, we're dealing with random people who live in the Bay Area.

My anxiety manifests itself in funny ways.  In the past week and half, every time someone would ask me  how I was doing or what I've been up to, I would burst into tears.  I can't quite explain it.  I can't control it at all.  It's really quite embarrassing and horrible feeling.

Someone called me yesterday to ask me what I planned on doing to celebrate my 32nd birthday.  I said that I had no plans, and he insisted that I do something to celebrate.  When I responded that I didn't want to make a big deal out of anything, that it had been a rough few months so I wasn't in the mood, and that I preferred to just keep it quiet, he kept pushing and raving about how it's important for me to celebrate myself and not the things I did or didn't accomplish.  I really didn't want to talk about it and told him so, but still, he kept pushing until I started to cry.  In hindsight, I should have just hung up the phone instead of politely bearing through a conversation I had already made clear I didn't want to have, but I didn't.  And as a result, we both had to deal with the discomfort of my tears and I felt much worse for it afterwards.  Today, I saw R and her mom. Her mom so innocently asked me how I've been lately, and I started to cry.

Really, it's all just simple small talk.  But, I just don't seem to handle even small talk these days.  I oscillate wildly between hope and despair over whether my life will get better, whether I will find work, whether my move to California was a mistake, and wonder if I will find happiness in my new life.  On the days I have hope, I'm fine.  Almost positively optimistic.  And, on the days where I feel despair, I almost can't do the smallest things.  On those days, be sure not to ask me any questions about me.   I'm not sure I can answer any of them without bursting into tears.

This is my life

I've been unhappy lately.  I've been unable to motivate, I wage a small war with depression and my ability to get out of bed in the morning, and I'm frustrated.  I often ask myself what I did wrong, replaying what-ifs in my head and wondering where things went wrong.  I can't quite put my finger on things, but I think what I suffer from is a lack of fulfillment.

Which surprises me and teaches me things about myself I never knew.

I've always prided myself in taking joy in the simple things in life.  I've never been someone who has let my job, my possessions, my friends, my looks, or my income define me.  Yet, here I am, one year and four months out of work, newly moved to California, financially insecure, unhealthier and fatter than I've been in a while, recovering from hip surgery.  Unhappy.  Unfulfilled.

Why do I feel this way?

Why am I so focused on the negatives when in reality, I am surrounded by family and friends that love me, that care for me, that are there for me?  When I have a safe place to live, and a functional car that takes me where I need to be?  When I have access to running water, heat, and healthy food?

I'm so caught up in acquiring my perception of happiness and success that I've failed to just live.  To truly experience.  Which was the reason I took 12 months from work, the reason I spent most of 2009 traveling, doing odd non-corporate jobs, volunteering, being a part of my community -- I wanted to experience life in a way that I hadn't before.  I want to be able to say that I lived my life.

Was I truly happy as a desk jockey that worked 50-80 hour weeks?  Was I truly happy living a life that started at 6am and didn't end until midnight?  Was I truly happy because I bought a $1,200 handbag?  Was I truly happy making six figures but paying $3,000 a month to live in a mouse-infested apartment building in a desirable neighborhood?

When I try to place myself in that life again, I remember that I wasn't.  That I hated that life too.

So, why is it that I'm trying to find that life again?  That the life I have now isn't ok?

JP, the world's best therapist, says that when we're faced with the unknown, we often revert back to the familiar even if it isn't good for us or hurts us.  That's why children of addicts marry one or become addicts themselves.  Perhaps in the face of the unknown and uncertain future, I wish I had my old life because I know it "works." I don't know whether my current life will succeed.  I don't have a map that tells me that I should do next.  I am just here.

I'm scared.  Which is why I've been wishing for something I walked away from. To truly experience life, I ought to embrace my fear.  Live in the moment.  Fill up on my experiences.  Even the hard ones.  Because struggles, personal frustrations, fear, uncertainty.  That's life too.

I am not my job or my ability to find a job.  I am not my income.  I am not the clothes I wear, the bags I carry or the places I shop.  I am not my busy schedule, my social calendar or the hours spent at the gym.  This is my life, and I'm exactly where I should be right now.

When I grow up...

I love the movie Ghostbusters. And, I think it was because of that movie that I've always wanted to live in a converted firehouse. While other girls were fantasizing about castles, Prince Charming and unicorns, I wanted to live in a firehouse when I grew up. An old school one with a pole through the floors. By the time other girls my age were hanging dream catchers over their beds, I was thinking about how cool it would be if I could convince all my close friends to live in this firehouse with me. We could convert each floor into an apartment or two, have a couple of dogs and cats, and use the ground floor (with its big red fire engine garage doors) as a workshop and garage. That way, I'd have the best of both worlds -- my friends when I wanted to see them, and my own place when I didn't. Naturally, I never actually lived in a firehouse. Neither did my friends.

Now that I'm older, I no longer fantasize about a firehouse full of friends. Lately, I've had a new thought as I've read about a slew of Napa and Sonoma vineyards under financial duress, and I've been fantasizing about a new future. Instead of a firehouse, it'd be awesome if my friends and I could pool together about $2M for couple of acres of vineyard (complete with farmhouse and barn) an hour or two outside San Francisco. It'd be enough acreage to make about 300 cases a year, which definitely wouldn't be enough to make a profit (unless we're talking about Screaming Eagle), but it might be enough for us to be hobby vintners and have a place to go get away, be outside, work the land and hang out. It'll never happen, but with Ghostbusters far behind me, it's nice to have such thoughts.

Back from Hong Kong!

I got back from Hong Kong last night, and I've a lot to do this year in an effort to reconnect with my Asianness:

First, I have to rehearse my new repertoire of asian picture poses. I thought that all I had to do was make a V with every picture, and I was officially asian, but nope. I've been told that there's an entire catalog of asian poses, many of which can be found on this website: www.asianposes.com. I better start practicing.

Second, I need to make more asian friends. Apparently, one isn't really asian until they have a whole gaggle of asian friends to karaoke and gamble with. I don't gamble or karaoke, but if I have more asian friends, perhaps I'll start. I'll see you at the Casino.

Third? Well, I have to get back to my life. Everything (job search, networking, etc) has been on hold for the last five weeks while I've been overseas. Now that I'm back, it's back to the grind for me again.

I had a rocky start in Hong Kong, but by the time week five came around, I was sad to leave the island. The first two weeks were overwhelming -- first, I forgot about how my dad can be, and second, I haven't been around that many people since I foolishly decided to watch the 2003 Holloween Parade my first year in NY. By the third week, I finally felt comfortable being out and about in HK. I was reminded of all the outdoor activities, interesting people, diversity and awesome food the city had to offer. I saw friends I hadn't seen in a years. I learned to ignore my curmudgeonly dad. My mom was off on break, so I got to spend lots of time with her. It was really nice. If I didn't have plans to meet people in HK, I'd often take a walk around the lake at my parents' place, do a bit of yoga, pet the animals, watch some TV and do crossword puzzles all day. I was sad to leave my parents and come back to face life again.

Note column to the top right of this website

And then visit http://www.tweetingtoohard.com/. Hilarious!

He said WHAT?

At Trader Joe's this morning:

Man: "How are you today?"

Me: "Ok."

Man: "Just ok?" I shrugged. He said, "Yeah, me too. What are your plans for the rest of today?"

Me: "Eh, look for work? Run errands? Not sure yet. It's nice out."

Man: "What do you want to do?"

Me: "I wish I knew. Suggestions?"

Man: "You look like a swimmer. Maybe you can be a lifeguard."

K, M and Montie in Philly

I go to Philly to have dinner with college bestie K, her bf M, and their cute doggie Montie. K's getting her MSW and is usually crazy busy, so it was good to see her.

Sharing PBRs with K and M.

Montie offers me one of his toys. :)

K suprised me with two more pairs of split toe socks. I love split toe socks!

Not sure what the big deal is

but I've read about this place.

The Gates, gorgeous in its chandelier and marble splendor, was a lot smaller than I thought it would be. There's standard front bar area and a medium sized room in the back that's lined with banquets and tables for those who love bottle service.


A friend and I were there Sunday night for an "exclusive afterparty." It was so exclusive, that it was mostly dead even by Sunday night party that start at 10pm standards. But, it was open bar, which is the real reason to show up anywhere, especially a place that is calling itself a super luxury restaurant/bar:

On May 8, Danny Kane and Rod Surut (Naked Lunch, Gemini Lounge) will reopen one of the city’s truly lavish spaces, the former Biltmore Room (the marble walls alone have been valued at $2.4 million) as a “super luxury restaurant/bar,” the Gates. Promotional director Redd Stylez (Home, Guest House, Cain) is overseeing an “ambassador” program that awards keys (the lockets double as pens or bracelets and don’t actually open the front gates, which used to belong to the Biltmore Hotel in midtown) to 125 members of the “New York City elite.”

Um, seriously? What the heck is "super luxury"? Who is New York City elite?

Give me a break.

My favorite part of the announcement isn't so much the Gates as much as this reaction:
...each member will receive a gold enema necklace that can actually inform the doorman that the person coming his way is the king of all douche bags... give me a freaking break. To be seen in the next season of the Real Housewives of Jersey City.
By onestopnyc on 04/21/2009 at 7:26pm

Agreed!

She said WHAT?

"You seemed depressed and half comatose."

I went to see my chiropractor today. I like her a lot; she's a really great lady. This is how our conversation went down before she cracked my neck.

Chiropractor: "How are you doing?"

Me: "Pretty good. I think this unemployment thing has been good for me. I make time to do things now -- I cook, read, see friends. I don't overschedule myself. I finally get enough sleep. I like this not working thing. I'm not a big fan of the no money thing though."

Chiropractor: "At first, when you told me you had been laid off, I was worried about you. You seemed depressed and half comatose, but now I realize that's just you when you're relaxed."

Not getting arrested seems like a good start to a new year as any

Happy 2009!



New Year's Eve was quite an adventure this year. I'm not sure how things got so crazy that I almost got arrested -- maybe it had to do with the knowledge that I didn't have to go to work on January 2nd so I wasn't worried about being completely hung over on January 1. Or, maybe I just don't have a reason at all. Because I swear I didn't think I had had that much to drink until the next morning when I could barely make it out of bed.

My night started out tame enough with an early dinner and mojitos at Son Cubano with Pookie, A and W.

After pigging out on awesome Cuban food, we headed to Carroll Gardens to M and L's apartment. Recently engaged J and C were there as well. Some rum and cokes were consumed.

I left Brooklyn around 11pm so I could drop by A's event. He and a friend were hosting a dinner party at an apartment right off of Washington Square Park. Unfortunately, I couldn't hang too long as I had promised I would meet B so we could cross into the new year together.

I headed to the Red Lion around 11:30. B was already waiting for me with J, P and J.

It was hot in the Red Lion. Much dancing ensued, which didn't help. Hence, copious amounts of scotch were consumed (courtesy of J) in an effort to counteract the heat, and probably because I wasn't thinking about how much consumption was occuring.

We left the Red Lion around 4am. Shortly afterwards, I was almost arrested. But, I wasn't arrested.

Not being arrested seems like a good a start to a new year as any! Happy new year!

For more pictures of New Year's Eve, click here.

Are you eating?

So it's been almost two months since I've been laid off, and I've been eating my way through Manhattan.

Dad calls to check in on me every week, and the most recent call went like this:

Me, "Hello?"

Dad, "What are you doing?  Are you eating?  I know it's hard when you're not working, but you need to stop eating, or you'll get fat."

Me, "I'm not eating." (I'm eating.)

Dad, "I can hear you eating.  Stop eating."

Seven Laid-Off New Yorkers Share Their Stories

Since August, 33,000 New Yorkers have lost their jobs.

I’m a workaholic, so it’s a little hard to step back and enjoy this free time. I’m going back to things that I enjoyed when I was younger. I’ve been cooking up a storm. I’ve been really diligent with Pilates and have taken up knitting again. I’m almost done with a little blanket for my cat.

You have to maintain a positive attitude. It does pass, but it takes time. Many people who were laid off from the big banks may never go back to the financial industry; they just don’t realize that yet. You have to ask yourself, “What is the talent that I offer, and where can I put that to use?” I’m reinventing myself. I want to go into the not-for-profit sector and do something more meaningful with my life. In my mind, as of that day, I retired from the investment services. It just wasn’t satisfying as far as giving back to people, and the current system is not the industry I remember. I’m looking for more now.

read more digg story

Uh oh, gold diggers may soon have to find real jobs!

With the market in serious trouble, well-to-do bankers and hedge fund guys in search of arm candy is harder to come by.

...being unemployed is not hot. Real estate broker Sammy, a 37-year-old "single girl in the dating scene" (who would rather keep her real name private so that her boss doesn't know she's a gold digger), wrinkles her nose in disgust. "Will I knowingly date somebody who is in the sh--ter right now? Probably not." Sophie agrees, "I would never go out with someone who came up to me and said, 'I don't have a job.' " Emilaya shakes her head. "No, no, no." Even the non-English speaker shakes her head no. It's universal: No banking job, no service.

Surprise, you've been rightsized!

Yeah, that's right.

Rightsized.

And, by rightsized, what they actually meant was, downsized.

As in: You have been laid off. Now, get out.

Not surprisingly, just because they called it rightsized didn't make me feel any better about being downsized. It might have made me feel worse. Except that it's not sunk in yet. Because, I'm not upset yet.

As of 10am this morning, I made the walk of shame from my office building down the street to the building that houses my former company's HR department.

I was joined by 3,199 other rightsized employees that made up the 10% reduction of the 32,000 large workforce that the company promise earlier last month. Each of us carried bankers boxes, duffels and shopping bags full of personal items quickly gathered from our desks in the few minutes we had between the time we were told we'd been laid off and the time it took to return to our desks to turn off our computers and leave the building.

We didn't have to speak to each other, we didn't have to make eye contact, and no one had to ask where the other was headed. We were all able to tell who was on the walk of shame with us. We were all able to tell who expected the axe to fall, they were the ones who walked with a spring in the step, relieved that the uncertainty was finally over. We were all able to tell who had hoped they'd be the ones to be asked to leave, they were the ones with expressions of hope, who saw this as an opportunity to pursue their dreams. The saddest to see, however, were those it took by surprise, evidenced by the subtle stoop of defeat in the shoulders, the shopping bags crammed full of banking tombstones, the crystal paperweight presented to employees that have been with the firm for at least 10 years, awards presented by financial associations and preschool drawings with bold headings that read "To: Dad."

Us 3,200. Strangers to each other, and strangely united. We didn't speak to each other. No one was in a talking mood. We didn't make eye contact. Guess no one was in a looking mood. Stone faced, everyone gazed resolutely ahead as we headed to HR.

HR was all business. We walked in, turned in our employee IDs, blackberries, laptops and corporate cards. In exchange, we got our severance packages.

Package is a generous word.

As I left HR, I ran into some former colleagues walking in. We exchanged hugs and made tentative plans for lunch along with lame half jokes about how we'll now have time to have lunch.

Now that we're unemployed, we'll have time to do the things we've always secretly envied others for having the time to do. Our secret envy was also our secret source of superiority and self worth. Our lives were so busy, our jobs so important to us, we never had time for anything other than work.

"So, now we have tons of time, want to do lunch next week?"

"Sure," I say, "let's do lunch."

Welcome to rightsizing.