When you are laid off or involuntarily separated

One year ago today, I took the shuttle from a White Plains, NY hotel to the headquarters office of the health charity where I worked -- day one of a four-day road trip, away from my Emeryville, California office. I walked into my boss' office at 8:30 a.m. to discuss an upcoming planning retreat.

By 8:45 a.m., I was no longer employed. I was unceremoniously escorted to my remote office. I turned over the laptop, cellphone, keys, credit card, and ID badge. I was closely watched as I packed a few personal possessions in a box. My briefcase was searched. And then I was escorted out of the building, returned to the hotel to checkout and pick up my luggage, and then was driven to the airport and put on a plane back home.

In retrospect, I could have (should have) seen it coming. But it came as a complete and utter shock. One moment, employed. The next, unemployed. I had been continuously employed for 28 years. And in the blink of an eye, I had no idea how I would earn a livelihood. Worse, I was totally unprepared for a transition.

Here's some advice to everyone who is employed about how to be prepared for the (unlikely?) event of an involuntary separation. Think of it like an earthquake preparedness kit ... you hope you never need to use it, but it gives you peace of mind when you've done these things:

• Keep your resume updated. (I hadn't touched mine since 2001, and it wasn't easy to reconstruct, especially since I could no longer refer to source documents.)


• Keep copies (safely, at home) of the following:

1. Your job description


2. Your performance evaluations (These usually contain valuable, high-level data about what you did. And, if you work for a firm that refuses to give references aside from confirming employment dates, these might be the only evidence you can show to someone that you were well thought of at the company before you were cut loose.)


3. A printed directory of your Outlook contacts. (How will you be able to reach out to your network of family, friends, professional and social connections if your only copy of their names, addresses, emails, and phone numbers are snatched from you moments after being told you no longer work there? Better yet, occassionally export your address book and import it elsewhere (a gmail or ymail account maintained solely for "just in case). And don't think that a service like LinkedIn serves this purpose. It doesn't. Without my Outlook and cellphone, I couldn't contact my housekeeper, my best friend from high school, the gardener, or even my mother-in-law!


4. At least a few work samples


5. Summary reports containing dashboard-level key metrics


6. User names and passwords for online accounts, plus URL's for blogs and online newsletters you subscribe to.

• I'm not saying you should stash away sensitive or confidential materials that rightfully belong to the company you might leave one day. For example, in the context of a charity, I'm not suggesting you keep detailed donor or accounting records. But when the day comes that you are escorted out involuntarily, you won't be given any opportunity to take anything with you. I'd been there for seven years. Suddenly, I couldn't produce a shred of documentation showing what I'd done. How much money was I responsible for raising? What results did I produce? Were 2007 results an improvement over 2006? And was 2008 better than 2007? Can I demonstrate my ability to create products (training outlines, example handouts) or establish business processes (software documentation, manuals, or standard procedures)? Can I prove to someone that I possess writing skills (a brochure, a grant proposal, a fund-raising letter)?


• Finally, set some money aside for living expenses. Otherwise, you risk tumultuous consequences (perhaps selling your home, dramatically cutting back on lifestyle, raiding funds intended for retirement). Yeah. I know -- you're not really going to do that.

That's my advice to be prepared. It's what I suggest you do while you still have a job. It's practical.

None of this takes into account the emotional aftermath of being let go ... the anger, the dread, the tears, the blame and self-blame, the shaken confidence, the fear. I have no real advice on how to deal with that, other than to say, give yourself exactly one day to lay in bed with the covers pulled over your head. Feel as sorry for yourself as you want for 24 hours. Then, get up, dust yourself off, realize that the past is past - you used to work there, now you don't. Time now to look forward and move on. Start reaching out. Start working your network. Start looking for the next-right-thing.

Now, one year later, I recognize that leaving that job was a very good thing for me. I had to confront the realities of the compromises I'd been making, settling for a different set of circumstances than I'd bargained for. Believing it was better to persevere rather than give up, I probably stayed in the position too long. When I touch base with "the survivors," I realize (recall?) that it is not a happy place to work. The separation forced me to think through what I really aspired to, and how the rest of my career would go. I've created a new practice under the brand Peak Performance Philanthropy, and provide coaching, consultation and training to organizations, helping them to understand how to help people experience the joy of giving to their cause. Life is good. But the transition would have been ever-so-much easier if I'd known then what I know now. Keep a back-up of important high-level stuff -- just to be on the safe side.