I wrote this entry a couple of days ago, but then I deleted it and decided to try it again, and again, and again, because no matter what I’ve been writing about things, it doesn’t turn out right.
Here’s the short of the matter: Kyle got laid off last week.
It was 100% unexpected and had nothing to do with the current state of the world. In short, his company was bought out and layoffs happened. We thought he’d be safe from them because of a variety of factors, but in the end, he wasn’t.
We’ve been through this before in our life together, lots of times. Right after we got married, my internship that was supposed to turn into a full time job… well, didn’t. I’d been our primary source of income because Kyle was still finishing his degree, and we went from being able to afford things like an apartment and our car payments to… not being able to afford anything. And it sucked for about eight million reasons, the largest of which being that we were broke. Worse than broke. We were trying to get an education, and the economy tanked after we’d taken out our loans, so there we were, jobless, newly married, with $60k in student loan debt.
Kyle had a savings account, so we used some of that to keep ourselves from going under completely. We both job hunted like mad, as much as we could. Kyle eventually found a seasonal retail position, and I kept hunting. I flew up to Massachusetts to interview for a technical writing position and stayed there for a week, waiting to hear back and hearing nothing. And then, out of the blue, people started finding my resume and I ended up, at least for a little while, at my favorite job I’ve ever worked with my favorite coworkers ever.
But that didn’t last either. That job ended in a layoff as well, because the economy was tough, and my entire department was cut. Kyle and I made a choice then, that we’d both try and find more work, but that if we couldn’t find work in Texas, we’d cut spending where we could and move in with my parents, since they had an in-law apartment they were offering us rent-free.
And, well. No nibbles after a month, bills piling up, stress on our shoulders. We made the move, and it was hard, and I hated it. I hate moving in general, but I hate it most when it’s moving from somewhere you’ve thought would be at least semi-permanent. I hate it when you’re watching your entire life, save for whatever necessities you can squeeze into a couple of small cars, get shuffled off into storage. All of those wedding gifts, all of those books, all of those photographs, boxed up and kept in a U-Haul for who knew how long.
I hated feeling like a failure, too, because even though the layoffs in question were mostly because of a shitty economy, you always feel like you’ve failed when you’re laid off. Even when your manager tells you that your work is exemplary, and when the company owner tells you that he’ll recommend you anywhere you want to go, you still wonder how you could’ve let this happen.
But back then, it was just the two of us, plus a snake and two leopard geckos. We lived as leanly as we could; weeks where we’d saved money ended with a $20 dinner for two at Chili’s, but most of the time, we’d end our week with whatever we could buy for $10 or less at the corner store.
We moved into my parents’ basement, quintessential Millennials. And somehow, once we’d settled in there, things came together. In only about four months, Kyle got a great job, paying way more than I’d been making in Texas or than he could’ve hoped to make there. A year after moving in with my parents, we moved into our own place. A year after that, Kyle got his last job, which was a great experience with great benefits and pay that enabled us to buy our own house and raise three kids.
And now this.
I’m trying to be okay, for everyone’s sake. I know it’s logical to be okay, that every job Kyle and I have gotten in the past decade or so has been offered to us rather than being something we’ve had to hunt down, that we’ve got a surprisingly sturdy safety net at the moment. I know that all of Kyle’s contacts in his industry heard he was available for work again and started sending him jobs immediately. I know that, in the end, it’s probably going to turn out that it’s all for the best, and he’ll be making way more than he was before, and he’ll be happier and more comfortable than he was before.
Everything is uncertain now. We’d finally gotten to a point where paychecks didn’t feel stretched paper thin. The twins are done with formula, Sam’s in public school. We’re halfway through buying couches, for heaven’s sake.
(we are going to finish buying the couches, as soon as the furniture store opens back up)
It’s different now than when it was just the two of us and some reptiles. Eight years ago, when we packed up our life and moved away, not knowing what the future would bring us, it was just us (plus a snake and two leopard geckos). Nobody depended on us. We could’ve, if we’d had that sort of kooky young person mindset, just up and moved to Scotland or New Zealand, and it wouldn’t be that hard because it would just be us.
(I mean, it wouldn’t be easy, but big life changes are easier with just two adults who know how to cope with change)
But we’ve got kids now. Three kids depending on us to keep them from starving or being homeless. And in the end, we’ve got enough of a safety net that I know, logically, we’ll be alright, but there’s that little nagging gremlin in the back of my mind saying, “but what if…?”
I remain staggeringly cognizant of the fact that we’re living on a knife’s edge, like pretty much everyone else in our generation. Kyle and I–Kyle especially–are skilled workers who always get compliments on our “work ethic” and other intangibles that people like a lot, but we’re also lucky. Lucky that this happened when it did, lucky that we have families who are able to support us, lucky that we’ve got our safety net in place, lucky that Kyle has great contacts with great connections. Lucky.
We’re taking turns being optimistic. It’s Kyle’s turn tonight. I’m feeling sulky and mildly belligerent, but I’m internalizing the latter and nursing the former with a handful of novels I’ve been meaning to read and the knowledge that Sam’s birthday next week will, at least, be a good time.