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Thrown into the deep end at my first industry trade group meeting in 2013, I quickly learned the harsh realities of navigating challenging industry discussions. My debut question at the meeting resulted in being publicly labeled a spammer. As a novice in industry development, I hadn’t yet mastered the skill of packaging tough questions in a palatable envelope. Despite feeling like just a small member of the group, I found an unexpected mentor and friend: David Diggs. During a break he reached out, shared invaluable advice on how to phrase my questions, and sparked a friendship that continues to this day.
Our collegial camaraderie continued even during years when we took diametrically opposite positions on key industry and regulatory issues. As I would come to discover, David’s generosity extends to everyone, which explains why, even six years after his retirement, he is still celebrated as a trustworthy source of guidance in our industry.
An avid sailor with a sailor’s temperament and an English major’s love for prose, David now offers his best advice on a challenge that everyone will face at least once in their career: how to deal with job loss.
Editor’s note: This is the eighteenth in a series of guest posts where people from all walks of life share their best advice in times like these. A big thanks to the leaders who volunteered to share their life experiences. Reflection on the past is a deeply personal exercise. The willingness to share it with the world, especially in the written form, is a commendable act of vulnerability. For this alone, they have my deepest gratitude.
On Suddenly Finding Yourself Out of a Job
It was my third interview at the satellite company, and I was meeting with the company president. The VP Sales and Marketing who was the hiring manager characterized it as a “courtesy interview,” but we all know there’s no such thing.
The company president and I sat facing each other in the easy chairs of his corner office. It was August. Outside, in the park across the street, pigeons fluttered around a statue of Henry Longfellow. The president scanned my resume, making little nonverbal “hummm” sounds. After a moment, he looked up at me. “So, you’ve moved around a lot, haven’t you?”
He wasn’t wrong. Over the preceding decade I’d set a brisk cadence of job changes, and in fact I had been out of work for about three months at the time of our interview. The question was reasonable, even obvious, and I felt ready. I had decided to stay in my wheelhouse and respond with humor. “Well, in my defense, not all of those job changes were my idea,” I replied. He laughed, and we moved on to other subjects. Two days later I accepted their offer to be Director of Carrier Distribution.
In my 40-plus years of working I left perhaps a dozen different jobs in every possible way you can except for dying (which I’m saving for last). One company went bankrupt. One organization “eliminated my position.” I’ve been fired for performance twice, coincidentally both times by guys named Al. I’ve resigned twice without having a new job lined up, because life’s too short.
So, I know a thing or two about career freefall, and getting back up again. Here’s my best advice:
1. Take that deep breath.
Maybe everything was fine ’til you woke up on the concrete. Maybe you saw it coming. Either way, you’re jobless now, and that’s a problem. But, it’s temporary. Years ago, during one of my bouts of unemployment, my friend John advanced his theory of the Hard Core Employed. “Look, you’re smart, you did most of the job right, you’ve got a solid track record. Word will get out and eventually someone’s going to make you go back to work. You’re just not built to be out of work—you’re among the Hard Core Employed.”
So, deep breath. Even in a down cycle, there are still lots of jobs out there, and you only need one. No telling how long it will take. There are various formulas out there about how it’ll take X weeks of searching for every $10,000 in salary. Safe to say, it’ll be a while.
About money: If you’re lucky, you got a severance package. If you’re smart, you’ve taken the advice about keeping several months’ worth of liquid assets on hand. If you’re neither, it’ll be hard, but Parkinson’s Second Law (“Expenses rise to match available income.”) is bi-directional, so your expenses will of necessity shrink now that you’re on the beach. It’s good practice for retirement. And don’t be too proud to sign up for unemployment benefits.
2. Look for the helpers.
Mr. Rogers’s advice is solid. There are people out there who will help you. Spread a wide net. Your friends and colleagues, of course, but even your loose connections will help. In the olden days, before LinkedIn and email, I would work the Rolodex hard. LinkedIn has a guide for getting the word out (and, yes, I’d say go ahead and use their #opentowork banner). You never know who’s heard of something. Most of my next jobs came not from close allies but from calling contacts who were second and third degrees of separation. It’s cliché because it’s true: Your full-time job is to find a job. Lucky for you, the pandemic made us all set up home offices that will be your new work location for the coming weeks. Set yourself a schedule and stick to it.
3. Be honest.
You’re probably looking to stay in your current sector—it’s what you know. Just remember it’s a small world. Everybody knows the circumstances of your departure, or can call someone who does know. So, be honest about it. Some of the reasons like bankruptcy or your job got relocated across the country are “no-fault,” and thus are easy to explain. Performance-related departures are tougher. I had luck with “it turned out that my particular suite of strengths and weaknesses was a poor fit for that position, and I wish that we had all done a better job of matchmaking there.” Many of us have had that experience (me more than most, perhaps), and acknowledging it will likely resonate with your interviewer.
4. Enjoy the break.
Yes, your first responsibility is to get back to work, but you should take advantage of this pause. Ideally, you’ve had the good fortune to become unemployed when the weather’s nice. Whatever the season, your time-to-money ratio has just been inverted. Go to a movie on a Wednesday afternoon (matinees are cheaper!). Take a road trip. Trim the hedges. Exercise. My resting rate was never lower than the summer of 1991 when I got defenestrated from a precursor to Nextel, and our lawn looked its best. I promise you that someday you will become sentimental about your newfound free time.
5. Don’t settle.
Eventually you’ll get a job offer. Take as much time as you can to think it over and strive to have the discipline to reject an offer that’s not right for you in the long term. I’ve declined offers when I was unemployed. It’s incredibly difficult, and it will haunt you until the right offer comes along, but it’s important.
6. When you’re back to work, drive defensively.
Once you’re back in the saddle (and you will be; see “hard-core employed” note above), you need to practice the driver’s ed principle of constantly scanning for an escape route. Your resume should always be up-to-date and ready to go (as should your passport and, at least here in DC, your tuxedo). Some good advice I got from an outplacement counselor was to devote a half-hour each week to basic networking. Call or email or text a few contacts just to say hello, or compliment them on a recent promotion, or whatever. Keep an eye on the various job postings. Maybe like some stuff on LinkedIn, if only to show a pulse.
7. Pay it forward.
Part of the reason you’re back at work now is because somebody took your call, or met you for coffee, or wrote a recommendation letter for you. Don’t be too busy to return the favor to anyone who reaches out to you for help.
Months after I joined the satellite company, that same president and VP sales and marketing were in my office, just shooting the breeze on a Friday afternoon, gossiping about some mutual acquaintances in the wireless community. The president got up and closed my office door in advance of sharing some juicy tidbit, and I freaked out. “Oh, man, PLEASE don’t do that to me! The last time a company president closed my office door I ended up out of work for three months.” We laughed it off, but it was a moment. And that was back in 1991. Unexpected joblessness is traumatic. It stays with you. But you’ll be fine.
