Out of the Rat Race, and Pitied for It
In a recent flight from Las Vegas to Chicago, I ran into a colleague from my old job, and a question of protocol silently, and uncomfortably, arose: Since we are no longer co-workers, what are we? Friends? A divorced couple? Strangers? Depending on the answer, how should we act toward each other?
Making it all just a bit more awkward, I acknowledged, was that while we are former co- workers, he's the only one working right now. I left HBO in July after 11 years as president of HBO Enterprises, and by "left" I mean resigned. Quit. That was the story, and that was the truth. But it doesn't mean that anyone believes me. The assumption is that people just don't leave "jobs like that." They are fired or, in this uncertain economy, they are downsized.
And so, for three hours, we sat at a distance and avoided each other. We'd feign sleep and turn toward the window at strategic moments, anything to avoid eye contact and conversation.
This dance of discomfort had been performed all weekend. In Las Vegas, I stayed at the Four Seasons Hotel, and so, it seemed, did most of my former colleagues from HBO, because of two events: Lennox Lewis and Hasim Rahman were fighting for the heavyweight championship on pay-per-view television, and the next day Britney Spears was performing live.
My replacement was there, and so, too, were senior production executives, marketing people, two former members of my staff and many others. I was there for the fight, and my ticket did not come out of the HBO allotment.
I avoided almost everyone. I did without the lavish buffet and free margaritas at the postfight HBO party, turned down tickets to the Britney Spears concert, wiggled out of a golf date, arrived at the fight late, avoided the hotel restaurant and the main lobby. But by Las Vegas standards, it was a small hotel, so running into fewer than six HBO people in three days was a good record, if avoidance is one's goal.
What I was really avoiding was feeling contagious. When you're not working and they are, nobody wants to catch what you've got, even if what you've got is what you want. I'm 49 and unemployed because I can afford to take a break - thankfully a long one if I care to.
I have heard all of the questions and comments. Yes, I am working out more. Yes, I've lost weight. No, I'm not doing anything (meaning working). No, I'm not looking for a job. Yes, it's great to be home. Yes, my children like seeing me around the house. No, they don't know what to tell their friends. Yes, it's fun not having a schedule. No, really, I'm not bored.
But I know what they're thinking because it sometimes sneaks out: What does he do all day? He looks too relaxed. It's all a front. He was fired and can't find anything. How can his wife and children stand it with him around the house all the time? He's pathetic.
Those of us who don't necessarily aspire for more (yes, we exist, even in New York) and are lucky enough to be content with what we have (an even smaller subcategory) don't need a support group. Honest.
But some things change when you stop working, or take a break, especially if you've enjoyed a level of professional responsibility. You become the party on hold. Somebody has to be the one waiting for a callback, and it's usually you. The business associate who couldn't get enough of your wisdom and humor a year ago is now screening your calls. You grab for the dinner checks less assertively.
For people who know the truth, who know that, in a sense, you've rejected their world, what are the limits? Is sharing office gossip still O.K.? How many times can I tell them that enjoying life is enough and that no one need feel sorry for you because you're on a different schedule?
My situation is really pretty good; if only everyone were so lucky. What happens, inevitably, is that you find yourself with a Rolodex packed with "acquaintances" because too many "friends" disappoint you.
What's up with the West Coast friend with whom you spoke at least once a day? Is he angry or just uncomfortable, like the former colleague on the plane?
So you return to protocol. Is it O.K. to ask for favors, and for how long? If you ask someone to lunch, does he pay automatically because he has the expense account? And does he think you called him just looking for a free meal?
The first time I played golf with my former boss, he was candid: "What were you thinking when you quit?" When I told him, he sort of listened, and nodded, but was waiting for the "real story."
Every once in a while you read about the guy who hit the lottery, or inherited money, or traded in his dot- com options in 1998. You think: "Man, if I had that kind of money, I'd check out, maybe permanently, maybe just for a while, but I'd check out. I've got nothing more to prove. I've got enough money now. I think I'll do nothing, or do what I want - won't work - for six months, a year, forever. Maybe I'll accomplish something; maybe I'll just be happy."
So, on the issue of protocol, there is no reason to turn away from me or to feel uncomfortable. The protocol is to ask all the questions you want - but to believe the answers.
