Losing your job (at 65)

After a decade with the same company, you tend to think you're safe from sudden job loss. I had a mixed, hybrid job. My duties ranged from talent manager, application maintenance, participation in various committees and, most importantly, software development.

It was a six-month temporary layoff. I'm not the only one who's been let go. As in many IT companies, it's time for restructuring. I've already described it in a previous post: when it's time to crunch numbers, talent reverts to resources, to accounting numbers. There is nothing new under the sun of hiccupping growth.

An inevitable encounter with human resources

On the morning of the announcement, I received an invitation to report to human resources an hour later. I knew immediately what would happen. I grabbed my backpack and calmly emptied my desk drawer, ensuring that whatever belonged to me was gone. I removed my company sweater and left it on the back of my chair.

I stood up. I had twenty minutes to wait. My office is located in an area with lots of windows. I could look out over the city, arms behind my back, and let my gaze try to soften my heart, which was already beating a little too fast.

At the appointed time, I took a deep breath, skipped the few colleagues further down the road, and headed for the HR department. Two managers were waiting for me, whose almost plastic facial expressions told me my fears were well-founded.

I put my things down and told them: "I'm ready." This seemed to stun them. It wasn't a nasty little victory. The conversation lasted five minutes. I remained polite; I wasn't angry yet. My disappointment was not yet palpable. I was asked for my electronic key. I was thanked for my "loyal service". They were probably being honest, but talking about me with one foot in the past told me they probably didn't intend to call me back.

I don't want to lend them any intentions. They may be as honest as their dismay at what's happening. I decided to walk home. I'm two stations from the office. Despite the preparation, the emotional impact was gradually felt outside. I only recorded a little of the route. I'd just been kicked off the train.

The job market

The French term has its poetry ("marché du travail," work market, marcher meaning "to walk"). In life, you walk a lot. You move forwards, backwards and try not to tread water.

I spent seventeen years as a self-employed worker, no doubt in a clumsy way, planning nothing and going into debt. It took me several years to get back on my feet financially. I learned a lot from the company that had just abandoned me. I'm certainly not the same man, the same worker. I walk differently, especially now that I'm of retirement age.

I've achieved a lot in ten years. I'm a jack of all trades. I know how to manage, program and negotiate with customers. I also know how to listen, consolidate and make people think. Without pride, I can say that people liked my presence, advice, know-how, and soft skills.

I can also sing, read a birth chart and write. Renaissance man, and often reborn. Good at everything, good at nothing. In the face of catastrophe, I've long been the mammal able to find a new path through the still-warm ashes.

I don't feel ready to stop, especially as I'm not financially strong enough to quit any job. I still have my health, and I still love everything I do.

Paralyzed

It's all the same. Nevertheless, I remained paralyzed for the first week, which had just ended. During that time, my first instinct was to continue programming a personal project as if nothing had happened. I did, however, cancel almost all the electronic subscriptions I'd allowed myself to take out and reduced some of them. I've started cleaning the house, filling bags with books and accumulated things which had put me to sleep.

This morning, I was announced by email the amount I'll receive from Employment Insurance: half my salary for thirty-six short weeks. I need to make an appointment with a financial advisor who can give me a clear picture of what's to come.

As my late grandmother Antoinette used to say, when you think there's nothing left, there still is to come... Just because I have to give up some of my bourgeois softness doesn't mean I won't be able to live. All in good time.

Having to sell myself again

I've always hated having to sell myself, and the idea of redoing a CV and explaining to everyone what I'm worth is repugnant. At my age, the job market can seem foreign. Already receiving automated offers via the inescapable LinkedIn, I realize that very little has changed, except that everything seems to be done digitally and via social networks.

Even my dismissal letter told me not to make a fuss on Facebook and the like (I'm not the type, though. That wouldn't have been the case when I was twenty. I could tell you things...). Everyone walks on eggshells in the muffled world of "anything goes."

I know the competition is fierce and often younger, making the task even more daunting. How can I explain to a recruiter what kind of person I am and what kind of experience I have if he or she only reads the bulleted lists on my curriculum vitae?

To compare my job search to a labyrinth would be apt. Every twist and turn reveals new methods and tools I should own or learn. Has CV writing changed? As with programming languages, there's certainly a flavour of the month, and it's hard to know who will find my application to his/her liking just when the ice cream changes colour?

To navigate this maze, should I sign up for career reorientation workshops or contact professional networks for seniors? I don't think so. We all know how it works. Chance and a bit of luck will always play their part.

There will be a conclusion, a turning point, just as my natal chart suggested. Well, I'm turning the page..., walking a bit in circles.

Defeated but not defeated (not yet)

I asked ChatGPT to write me an article on the present subject. I've only retained a few sentences, but the rest is pure Verville. It wasn't hard to reject the robot's text, as it reeks of prefabricated motivation. Here's an example:

It's easy to feel overwhelmed and demotivated in the face of many new things and challenges. Yet, I'm determined to turn this hardship into an opportunity. Resources like digital skills seminars, reorientation advice, and support from loved ones are valuable lifelines.

Or else:
A new chapter begins. This forced transition is difficult, but it's not the end of my professional story. I see this moment as a chance to reinvent my career, learn new skills and meet inspiring people.

'That's for sure, that's for sure,' as an uncle could say. You can't give up; you must hope, think positively and have faith. Things work out in the end. There's no loss of life, just a twist of fate.

But it could also end there. The labyrinth is more than just in the job search. I've reached that age when you don't do too much unnecessarily. You want to rest, have your beer, and not think about the visceral fat that's settling in your abdomen. You're no longer innocently twenty or thirty.

My poet's head sees me in an unnamed place, a labyrinth of antiquity, forests and dense wisdom. I'd like to be able to stand still, without too many clothes, free, breathing serenely, with thoughts that are no longer thoughts. That said, doing nothing is a waste of time. I don't yet know all the secrets of the universe, and it's not likely that I'll be able to unlock just one of them any time soon...

I got a call yesterday from my mother, who wanted to know how her son was doing. A mother isn't a business; she doesn't do the accounts, and that's the great thing about life.

My mother told me she was still learning the piano. She will soon leave her remote countryside to be closer to her children. She'll be 86 in a few months. Knowing that she will be close to me and that I also have sisters and friends around is the only lesson and comfort I need.