This post is the first of what I hope will become a series, checking back in on folks who once felt stuck in unemployment and despaired of ever getting out among the working again.  These stories are unlikely to consist of tales where everyone lived happily ever after.  Still I think there is a value to being able to fast forward from someone’s time being unemployed to see what happened.  It gives us a chance to see someone’s “future” when their present looked bleak.

Note: Excerpts or republishing from other folks’ websites has been done with permission.

Charlie Walker had several blog posts, over on Older Dad Younger Child, about his experience with unemployment.  Walker had worked for a publisher for 11 years, when in 2013 he got a call one day while working from home.  His boss began to talk about changing business conditions and suddenly Walker realized he was out of a job.

Walker sprang into action following his layoff notification.  He and his wife worked to reduce expenses and stretch his severance pay.  Walker found and applied to several positions he thought he could do well at.  He was encouraged when he was having promising interviews within a few months of being laid off.  But the interviews didn’t result in a job offer.  The Walkers cut expenses further, far enough that even his six-year-old daughter noticed.  In early November, she asked if they were still going to have Christmas that year.  “Talk about taking your heart out and stomping on it,” Walker said.

A year into his job search, Walker wrote about his growing desperation: (blog post from June 2014)

“Did you get a job?” my daughter optimistically asks when I’d come home from what I thought was a good interview.

“Did you get a job?”

It occurred to me this week that she is moving into the time when her memories stick with her.

Right now, she has no memory of her father working, save a few short-term placements.

I understand what can lead someone to extreme measures.

This week, I began pounding the pavement — walking into businesses and asking to apply for non-existent jobs. It’s an incredibly humbling experience.

Walker began to broaden his job search to include almost any job, rather than looking for a position that matched his training and skills.  He got a part-time job at Wawa and wrote this post in September 2014

 My parents set excellent examples for me of how you do your best and even make sacrifices for the greater good of the family.

There was one thing my Father did during this time that didn’t fully register.

He was unemployed — I never knew this.

He took on a part-time job driving a cab. It was a grinding and sometimes dangerous way to make a few extra bucks. He was threatened and had a gun pulled on him. People tried to run off without paying. He worked in a rough part of town during an era when racial tensions were high. But he made money, to support his family.

Recently, he told me a wonderful story about a day he spent with Jesse Owens, picking him up at a downtown hotel and driving him to an out of town location. Owens was a kind, considered and thoughtful man — unlike today’s so-called superstar athletes.

Owens treated my Father with respect and dignity.

It was one of the very bright moments during an otherwise tough experience.

Switch gears: I’ve been out  of work since last year. Early last year. I’ve had a few contract placements and close to 20 sincere interviews. I make a small income from freelance writing, but not enough to bear an equal burden of keeping our family beyond sinking survival mode.

This week was my first week training for a job at a convenience store for a well-known chain. The work is physical, non-stop and an overwhelming challenge to absorb countless policies and procedures, which all must be done with exacting care — and breakneck speed. If I’m lucky, I get to sit down and eat my lunch for 30 minutes. Otherwise, it’s on my feet all day. No sitting.

I’m a liberal arts desk jockey who’s spent his career breaking rules in search of a better way. I’ve always been able to sit when I wanted to, and take breaks when I created the time.

My biggest fear has been people who know me feeling some sort of pity.

That’s far from the case. I need to do whatever I can to help my family. I’m employed by a well-respected, excellently administrated corporation that offers endless opportunities. It’s one of the best companies to be employed by.

What helps me focus the most, though, is my own memories as a child growing up in a household where people rolled up their sleeves and got the job done — even if it meant driving a cab for a few extra bucks.

When I ran across Walkers blog a few weeks ago I wondered, “Was he still at Wawa?”  Was he still searching for another writing/publishing position?  Or had he found a permanent position?”  The answers it turned out were yes, yes, and yes.

Stuck, like many Americans, working two part-time jobs and struggling to make ends meet, Walker began a post in May with this:

“You are not your job. I’ve been telling you that for two years.”

My wife and I were surfing the wake of yet another oh-so-close interview that failed to land the job.

In the two years since I was drummed out of the ranks of fully employed editors/writers, there have been many highs and lows. I’ve learned, even after believing I aced an interview and struck a personal note with the potential employer, that I can’t afford to take failure personally.

But I am still having trouble accepting the separation of job and identity. Failure was not an option..

For most of my life, my job has been an essential part in the core of my identity.

It began when I was pre-teen and set up Odd Job Services — cutting grass, babysitting and other domestic chores. When I was 18 and started writing obits for the state’s largest newspaper — the same week I started my freshman year in college. Had my first byline a month later. At 19, I was hired full-time and promoted to a position that college grads coveted and rarely landed. I was an overachiever and proud of it.

The job had plenty of perks and privileges, from backstage concert passes to a decent wage that paid my way through college.

When I went back to school under a fellowship that paid my way to become an elementary school teacher (check that off the bucket list), my job changed, but not my passion for writing and editing. Again, I identified myself — defined myself — by my profession.

When I bounced back into writing and editing (after bouncing myself out of teaching), it was more than job.

When something involves creative talent and a healthy dose of ego to succeed, it’s impossible to wean your identity from your profession.

I was my job.

So now I’m working two jobs, and trying to survive a brutal schedule. I am not my job, but my jobs owns me.

At least two or three days/nights of the week, I pull an overnight shift, followed by a day shift, then another overnight shift. Hopefully there’s no day shift scheduled for the next day.

I don’t think anyone ever gets used to working third shift. I consume caffeine and sugar snacks. Great for my waistline and my dwindling number of teeth.

I chuckled when I read this.  The guy is pretty funny and a good writer.  He really does belong in writing and publishing.  He is also wiped out by his current schedule.  He saved the above post without publishing and meanwhile his job situation had another plot twist.  Walker continued,

Since I began this post, then let it go fallow, there’s been a change.

Home Depot has offered my full-time employment.

I start in a week. But it’s in another department.

Working in Lawn & Garden has always been enjoyable for me. My new job? I’m starting from Square One, in every way.

This doesn’t mean the end of Wawa. I wanted to get at least one shift a week there (overnight, of course). I’m trying to set it up so the shifts come before my days off at Home Depot.

The new job is opportunity to learn new skills — marketable skills. It’s an overwhelming challenge, to say the least.

No matter what, no matter how much I immerse myself in my new assignment, I still won’t be my job.

But I’ll have a job.

I hear the relief in his voice.  Do you?