It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.
Behind me was a 10-year career in newspapers, a career I'd worked hard not only to nurture but also to nudge ever forward. Ahead of me, far below, was an uncertain future. And I wasn't about to jump. But until yesterday there was the strong possibility I'd be pushed by the company I work for, in a third round of layoffs in the year and a half I've worked there.
I'm happy to report that someone else's decision to leap has left room for me to step back. But the scare will stay with me. I was near the edge of that cliff for a while, and I had plenty of time to survey the landscape. Sure, I realize, the landing might not have been so bad. Journalism would have been over for me, but maybe I would have had my fall broken by some cool new career I never thought of before. Something with normal hours, normal weekends off, a viable business plan and (this is an extended, probably tortured metaphor, right? I can dream?) maybe even an office of my own, with walls and everything. And, had I been pushed, I was willing to be open to that possibility.
But here's the snag. I love what I do. I'm good at what I do. It is, I believe even more strongly now, what I'm meant to do. Maybe I was having trouble conceiving a new career plan because I'm lazy or uncreative or in denial. But maybe it's because I've already found my path. And that path might lead me to go down with the ship. But that's OK. Someone has to. Besides, I've always been better at swimming upward to find the air than watching helplessly as the ground rushes toward me anyway.
