Elizabeth Lions, Author of Recession Proof Yourself

Approval

2011-06-04T09:34:00.002-05:00

"Are you ok? Are you?", the thin man said to me from the wheel chair. The skin on his arm were paper thin, and while his body was failing in the final hours of his impending death, his mind was all there.

I saw it in his eyes. Even the morphine and oxygen couldn't take away his sound mind, the sincerity in his question, the love in his eyes.

It had been seven years since I saw my father, and yet here I was, a thousand miles away from home at his bedside. They all told me that I was his dying wish.

"What does one wear to hospice?” I asked my husband. "Is the little black cocktail dress appropriate since its pre funeral or fleece and jeans better since I am going to Denver? They dress like shit there. I should try to fit in."

No one ever said living with a writer was easy.

What got me to Denver - Morrison, actually, was Jennifer. She called crying. Who on earth manages your fathers case load and calls crying? Apparently, I was my father's dying wish, according to her, which is all I could understand between her heart felt sobs. She looked all over a state where I no longer resided. It took her weeks to locate me, and when she did, she came apart. Afraid I wouldn't come, she told me about my Dad and the importance of my visit.

Lots of water under that bridge. I couldn't even muster up the strength to get angry, although people expected it and frankly justified it.

But I couldn't.

A dying man.

What on earth would I say to him?

What would he said to me?

Twenty eight hours later I'm there at Bear Creek Home, hardly recognizing the body that was in the chair called Jim.

My father being the stoic refused to be in bed. The nurses offered him to lay down in bed several times due to his condition, but oh, no. Dad would never allow his child to see him in that way.

Pride. One of the deadly sins. Apple doesn't fall from that tree, I thought with a laugh choking in my throat.

"I'm good, Dad. Real good." I smiled. We locked eyes. The oxygen tank hummed.

Pictures over his bed of children and grandchildren that weren’t of his blood, but were deemed as family. Not one shot of me. Elizabeth Lions: forgotten and invisible.

But I wasn't.

"You sure?" he asked, blue eyes never leaving mine.

"Yeah." Yup. Dad is all there. I can see it. Somehow it was important to me that he didn't lose his marbles along with his body.

"Dad, I have a good life. I have a book out and a second one coming out. I have a radio show, too. I help people that are lost in their career. I help engineers, and CEO's and even men in the military that come home. It's a good job, Dad."

"You don't say.” his eyes filled with wonder of the little girl that became the woman in front of him that he didn't know. All the years and all the fears vanished. It didn't matter what he did to me or what he had said. In these last moments, it just didn't matter.

"I am married now. My husband loves me and treats me well.” I reported.

It wasn't the married part, but the how I was treated part that mattered to him. The therapist in me sat in wonder watching his reactions. For a moment, I wasn't his daughter. It was therapist and patient. He held onto my hand tightly as we spoke in quiet whispers, like two children with deep secrets.

Bending over him, holding his hand, I proclaimed, "I am a good woman. I don't drink or do drugs like my brothers did. I am highly respected. Everyone knows who I am through my work. I work hard, Dad."

His response and the only one he really gave to me in those two days in hospice continue to roll around in my head, giving me affirmation and approval - the two pathetic things I craved my entire life.

He commented, "It couldn't have been easy for you."

Why? (follow up to post A Promise Is A Promise)

2011-04-10T15:46:00.001-05:00

This wasn't a normal job interview.

In fact, there was nothing normal about this meeting at all.

I sat across from a man that owned and ran a 600 million dollar business that was growing to over a Billion (yes with a Big B) this year.

The job was to run a team of recruiters, mostly men and fill over 200 open jobs. I had to lead them. Coupled with the projected business growth and industry trends, I expected this interview to be more about my qualifications.

But it wasn't.

Instead the man sitting behind the big desk asked me to tell him about myself.

Like most applicants, I am polite and started to talk about my career path, outlining what I do and how I did it. It was a sterile, egoistic interpretation of accomplishments I had made since 2000. Ironically enough he didn't care.

With dark eyes penetrating my soul he corrected me, "No, Elizabeth. Tell me about you. Do you have family? Children? Where did you come from?"

I squirmed. There was no way I could honestly disclose all of that. And, I there are few people walking this earth that actually know this about me.

Frankly, it never comes up. And, honestly, I don't disclose. That's my hiding place. I figure no one really cares, so why disclose.

He pressed on, "Tell me about you."

"Well, I'm not sure where to start."

Yeah, that was an understatement.

How do you tell a man that is a father of five that you have no family and they are all dead?

How do you begin to recount what drives you and what keeps you pressing on and that their deaths were the most blessed thing, other than cancer, that ever happened to you?

And how on earth do you weave that into a JOB INTERVIEW???

I took a long deep breath and looked out his window. The sun shined on the grass and I watched the warm Texas air blow the tree tops in the distance.

"I don't have any family. My tribe is dead."

He didn't seem shocked or uncomfortable, so I continued, carefully.

"What happened? Did they all die in a fire? An accident?"

Continuing to stare out the window, I responded, "No, I wasn't that lucky."

"Like any normal kid I went to high school and graduated at 18 in June. A month later, my oldest brother, Jimmy, died of drugs. By November of the same year, I buried my mother from lung cancer. I went to college in the fall and it continued. Within another year my other brother and grandmother died. From 18-21 years old, I was responsible for the burial of my entire family. So, while others were drinking beer and coupling off with who would be their spouses, I was a funeral director."

I swallowed hard and thought for sure this would cost me the job.

He asked....I told myself snidely.

That's about when I noticed religious articles in his office, like crosses and pictures and quotes. They were physical statements of him and his life, of his beliefs embedded his surroundings.

I continued, "For many family is their focus. For me, I have deep purpose."

It is my purpose that causes me to continually drive to leave something greater behind that is much larger than myself.

The drive is so big and the vision is so clear that each day at work or at home I am headed a direction.

The purpose, over time, has become my compass.

It runs into the deepest corners of my mind, heart and soul.

Without it, I would have been lost.

Few can survive the death of their entire family. Especially when you lose them all before legal drinking age.

This internal compass guides me in each moment of my life, knowing my time here is short. I learned life was short by 21 when I buried my own family. I learned that life itself is impermanent and that thinking it is otherwise is a grand illusion. And as if I had forgotten that, I experienced my own mortality in 2009 when I had skin cancer.

Nothing like imagining your own obituary and what it would state. At 40.

In the background I keep hearing the childhood song The Cheese Stands Alone.

I get, clearly that each breath in my body is not a dress rehearsal, but a moment in time where I may be able to make a difference, help heal, heal myself or give the gift of listening.

I choose, carefully, people that surround me. I will not allow people to treat me poorly, and I constantly monitor my own errs in my behavior.

I choose carefully my work, who I work for and what I produce. This is much more than a job, but about leadership and bringing others back to themselves for the good of others and for the company.

But make no mistake. My work is my expression through my life in which I measure what I leave behind. That and my marriage which is paramount to me.

Oddly enough, I got the job.

The Face of Suffering in America

2011-01-16T07:58:00.000-06:00

It is easy to see the suffering with the homeless man on the street, with ripped clothes, smelling of disaster and failure as you step over the body downtown.

It is easy to see the torture in a little boys eyes because he is beaten, abused and hungry.

It is easy to see the scars on the dog's side from the rage left behind of a selfish owner.

I think we all can see that, and sometimes we volunteer a day out of our lives to a charity or write a check around Christmas time, fooling ourselves into thinking that we've made a difference.

While, like you, I see that suffering, I live in the suffering of the silent.

They are normal Americans, just like you. Men and women who go to work each day and wonder if this is all there is to life.

It's the middle aged man who makes 100k a year, who plunks three ice cubes into his drink after a long days work, looking at his children who are growing and need him less and less. He lives in a big house with a woman called his wife who is a really a stranger in this country called his home. There is little connection and he fools himself each morning by getting up, going to work, managing his 401(k) and being responsible for those around him. He was told as a young man that he would have to provide for others and stop being selfish.

Yet at the ripe age of 40 or 50, he sits alone in his beautifully decorated palace wondering if this is all there is, and why isn't he happy after all he has accomplished.

Does anyone see him?

No.

Does anyone feel his suffering in lonliness and isolation?

No.

Furthermore, does he complain?

Little, for no one would listen.

Does he have a place or a book called "Work/Life balance" that would comfort him and tell him he isn't crazy?

No. He plods on to work then we judge and cruisfy him when he pitches his marriage, leaves, buys a sports car and perhaps quits his job.

We call that a mid life crisis because you would have to be nuts to leave the great life you had, buddy. Some thing is really wrong with you. Forget the voices in your head and return.

The face of suffering in America is all around you, in workers, in bosses, in large corporations churning out products and processes and more things we are supposed to buy.

We are no longer happy, and we don't know how to return to ourself and figure it out.

What do I do for a living?

I relieve pain.

It's that simple.

And I'll tell you why....
This is suffering.

A Promise Is A Promise

2010-12-21T06:40:00.000-06:00

"I won't talk about that, especially at a conference. No one wants to hear about that anyway!!"

"Yes, they do, Elizabeth.", my Marketing Manager warned me.

He has that look on his face. You know the one. It's the look that says I'm right and you know it you arrogant little twit.

I really hate when he's right, but I continue to argue, bitterly.

New tactic. This may get him silenced.

Maybe if I yell he will back off.

Those of you that know me personally know how much energy it takes to get me to get that angry. I allow myself to indulge in anger about three times a year. Kinda like a good house cleaning, where you get scrubbing in all the cracks and spaces in between, a good bout of anger can blow out some pent up frustration.

"You are not listening to me.", I start as my voice starts to rise. "No one wants to hear that crap. It happened. It's over. No one cares. Move on. I refuse to be someone that others feel sorry for! I'm not some whiny victim."

He lets me scream it out for a while. A good Marketing Manager does that. He figures he's got a thoroughbred horse here and this is a a part of the journey. Thoroughbreds are known for wining the race and then kicking their owner in the stables when they try to give the horse water and brush them down. Independence will kill a good horse because the horse doesn't know any better.

"Elizabeth", he nearly whispers, "You do this work because you are one of the best. You are one of the best in the country. In fact, think about this week. Where did that guy call from?"

"Chicago."

"That's right. And what did you do?"

"I helped him.", I answered slowly. I know where he's going with this and it's starting to piss me off.

"And what was his story? Other than the job loss?", he asks me with fake sincerity. This line of questioning is more about getting me to see the light.

"He got divorced after 25 years and recently lost his house. He had no money. His kids wouldn't talk to him. He needs the job to get back on track again. He was afraid to call me, but he did."

"That's right. He is one of thousands you worked with. Employed or unemployed, you work with all of them and help them through the tough spots in their life. Don't you understand? Sharing this life story of yours is important. It explains why. No one will judge you or think differently of you. In fact, they will deem you as quite remarkable, which you are."

"Shut up!" Now I am yelling. My Marketing Manager is doing his job. He's pushing me, but I won't go.

"Don't hide the broken parts. Let them see it. This isn't some cheap marketing ploy."

I am fuming. I mean REALLY fuming. He's opening the Pandora's box.

Unacceptable.

I am about to tune him up and start using the F word when he nearly threatens me.

"Elizabeth, let me put it to you this way.", his voice narrows as he leans into me, "If I catch you on stage even once in 2011 and you don't figure out a way to tell your story, you will really be in deep shit with me. Next year we have to start taping you when you speak. It's time to go to the next step with all this. The second book will be out and frankly, you have built such a following. You are in it too deep to turn back. Now, if you don't want to write about it, fine. But you better start disclosing that piece. On stage. In front of the audience. Am I clear?"

He continued, although I wished I had a sock to stuff in his mouth, "You work with those in transition. You are the best for a reason. Speak the reason."

I quieted down enough to take this in, but it wasn't for the last thing he said before he left the room that struck me the most profoundly.

"Elizabeth, you owe it to them."

And off he went.

A promise is a promise. Starting in 2011 I will come out from behind the curtain and tell why I do this work.

I would rather have a root canal with no Novocaine that do this, but I'll do it.

For you.

Perhaps it will give you some strength. Perhaps not.

Relocation, Relocation, Relocation

2010-08-27T16:31:00.000-05:00

I stood in front of an audience of about 200 professionals and made a bold statement.

If you aren't getting any response on your resume, stop sending it out.

They laughed. Others looked stunned.

Stop doing what isn't working. Why continue on the same path getting the same result? Isn't that tremenously hard on your spirit?

If there is no response to your resume or skills it doesn't mean that YOU are the issue. It could simply be a reflection of the market itself.

I am not naive. I have heard of the 1% of the American population that is deemed 'unemployable'. No, I'm not talking to you. In fact, I doubt you are reading this blog at all.

Rather, I'm speaking to those that refuse to move to another city to find work or fear change.

Consider relocation. At least consider looking for work in another city and see what is out there.

There is an art to letting go and moving forward at the same moment.

Trust me....I've done this....

I don't ask others to do what I haven't done myself.

The Purpose of Deep Pain

2010-04-21T09:26:00.000-05:00

With pain there is hope.

Even if it's a glimmer.

A small spark.

There is always something inside of you that whispers...this could change. This may pass...it can't be this way forever.

Can it?

Here's a thought...

2010-03-28T22:41:00.001-05:00

DISCLAIMER
NOTE: This is not new age crap talk.

Now, if you're into new age talk, well, you still may like this, but I just wanted to tell all the readers that DON'T like airy fairy happy crap, "think yourself better" people out there that the following blog post isn't that.

So just stay with me and take a deep breath.

Quantum physics tells us that nothing that is observed in unaffected by the observer.

I love science.

Call me a big nerd.

I'm a proof sort data kind of gal.

That statement, from science, not woo woo ugga bugga speak means that EVERYONE sees a different truth.

Because everyone is creating what they see.

Meaning: The place from which you are looking at dictates what you see!

Hate your boss?
Really?
What do you see?

Hate your relationships? Feel you are treated badly?
Maybe so, but what is your point of reference.
What did you create?
How are you accountable for this?

Are you brave enough to tell the truth....to yourself?

Tell the Truth

2010-03-28T22:30:00.000-05:00

Looking back now, I'm certain my mother didn't mean for this to happen.

It's just one of those things that sticks in your head, that you believe and ultimately becomes you.

I was a little girl standing before her, lying. She knew it too, the way her left jet black eyebrow raised at me, sternly repeating the question.

I looked her dead in the eye and lied again.

Elizabeth....if you tell me the truth you will not get into trouble. But you must tell the truth. There will be no punishment. None. But I have to know the truth and what I'm dealing with here.

I took a big breath, trusted her and told the truth.

There was no punishment.

I grew up believing that no matter how bad things could be, that if I always told the truth, I would be protected. Over time, my judgement became better, and I choose better, not having to dig myself out of messes and apologize.

If I got a speeding ticket, I told the truth to the judge.
If I was late, I owned my mistake and told the truth.
If I hurt someones feelings, or just knew I was wrong for saying something hurtful, even if they didn't find it hurtful, I told the truth.

It's also called accountability or facing the music.

My next book proposes that we try that small premise in the job search. That we tell the truth about who we really are and be honest.

I suggest we quit flinging our skill set.

Stop selling.
Be honest.
Be honest with the employer about who we are, what we are good at, and furthermore, what we are unwilling to do.

If we did that, we'd have a very different job. We would have set fair expectations with the employer.

No one to lie to anymore.

We could just be us, and utilize our talents.

But we could start out the business relationship with the most critical piece to any relationship.

TRUST!

Please DONT stop!

2010-03-17T16:04:00.000-05:00

To all the reporters with the power of the pen:

Please don't stop writing.

Especially when you know your message is important.

When you have that intuitive feeling in your gut that says your piece may reach that one person on a ledge.

We all get caught up in deadlines. So many that we doubt we are even heard or our message matters. Especially when the editor cuts your piece with a big pair of scissors, leaving your ego on the floor to sweep up, quickly forgotten.

Yow know darn well what I'm talking about.

Please don't quit.
Remember who you are and who you were...
It's that essence of you that got you in the biz, long before you needed the paycheck to pay your mortgage.

We need you.

We really do.

Someone out there is listening. Someone out there needs your words.

Butterfly effect. It matters.

Write on!

The Red Sign

2010-02-11T12:33:00.000-06:00

Last week in Barnes and Noble I came across a red sign.

It read:

STAY CALM

and

KEEP MOVING

That sign seems to ground me and sum up everything and everyone in my life right now.

I'm considering just pointing to the sign instead of talking.

Focus

2010-01-25T14:02:00.000-06:00

She looked at me for a long time after hearing me complain for more than an hour about my life.

Firmly, she stated:

Elizabeth, what you focus on expands. What are you focused on?

What you focus on expands.

Create more of what you want and less of what you don't want.

It is possible. It starts with minding our thoughts.

Mind Your Mind

2010-01-07T17:30:00.000-06:00

Someone once told me many years ago:

If you don't run your creative conscious mind, someone else will do it for you!

That's scary.

That means I have to be careful what I create in my thoughts, words and actions.

And, it means that if I don't, someone else will.

Choice is exercised.

Choose the right job.

Choose the right relationships.

Choose to show people how to treat you.

Or you quit running your own show.

Here's a thought....

2009-12-29T15:25:00.000-06:00

Most people don't aim too high and miss.

They aim too low and hit.

-Bob Moawad

I guess the same thing could be said of the job hunt, right?

We all want work, but let's be specific in what we really want to do.

And to do that, you'd have to be really honest with oneself.

You'd have to park the fear and quit worring about a paycheck and everyone else.

Hmmm...I think I'm talking to myself, and not you afterall.

:)

What I will tell Cody...

2009-12-27T13:24:00.000-06:00

Cody, our son, is about to graduate high school in June.

I can see him start to process the death of his childhood and the uncertainty of adulthood.

His energy feels to me to be one of a person that is unsettled. He knows on some level decisions need to be made, and he is very much afraid.

I know of this without him telling me a word.

And I know of this to be fact for he comes to me in the dream space.

I thought long and hard about what I should tell him.

Isn't this my biggest moment?

As a parent?

Isn't this my biggest moment as Elizabeth Lions?

Who do I really want to be in relation to all of this?

And, the most important question, the one that rocks me to my core -

What would love do now?

I thought a lot about all of this and here is what I will tell him, over and over again, until it registers deep in his beautiful mind and leaves a permament impression.

I will tell him:

Cody,

Listen to the mustn'ts child,
Listen to the don'ts,
Listen to the shouldn'ts,
the impossibles,
Listen to the never haves...

Then you listen close to me.

ANYTHING can happen, child.

Anything can be!

Including you. So go choose and choose again.

They will always tell you that you are too young or too old.

They will always tell you no.

And in recession, they will tell you that it is impossible.

Come here, my son..........listen closely....

Go create.

Choose.

Choose something.

Choose anything. Do not be afraid of your choices, for in the end, it will all be ok.

Work towards being the man that you are, with your beliefs and visions.

Anything can happen, Cody.

And that 'anything' is YOU.

131 West 35th Street, NY, NY

2009-12-09T12:06:00.000-06:00

West 35th Street, New York, New York

New Yorkers, and might I say, people on the eastern seaboard, in general, are called rude, rushed and aggressive.

But New Yorkers themselves will tell you they are not rude, rushed or aggressive.
They just have someplace to go.

It is as if they are all running by a magic clock.

Timeliness is a demand, not a virtue.

It was an unusually warm day in December as I walked down the street, admiring decorations, thinking over my appointments and dreaming of my future and what lied ahead.

I could no longer deny that these are my people and they understand me in the east.

The land of the rising sun.

Grief and separation is what drove me away some twenty three years ago, seeking to rebuild my life, but outside of Penn Station all the familiar feelings of the pace and the energy filled me. Intuitively, I knew how to jay walk and how to say “Excuse me, please.” if I was trying to get past someone stopped in the laberinth of people marching like ants to their destination. My footsteps fell with the audible step of progression.

And, there, in the roar of the asphalt jungle, was the goodness of all that surrounded me.

You just have to look closely, but it is there.

A woman, rushing past us, dropping six dollars. The wind carried it across the sidewalk. She didn’t know she had lost it. The invisible clock ticked and she had to meet her deadline of having her body in the right place, in the right building at the right time.

“Mam’! M’am! M’am!” The woman cried loudly despite the crowd of people rushing past us. Quickly she threw herself onto the pavement to retrieve the money for the stranger.
“The money fell out of your pocket!”
“Thank you.” She smiled and took the bills from the woman's hand.

If anything is excellent or praise worthy, think about such things.

Excellent.
Praise worthy.

New Yorkers are such things.

Aisle 9

2009-12-07T08:25:00.000-06:00

Christmas Cards in bright red boxes lined the dusty shelves, with a tag that screamed 50% off if you buy today.

This is my favorite time of year and I love reflecting on all the clients and friends that touched my life. Writing each card is a special connection for me. The process of picking out the card, enclosing a short, personal note – all the way to the stamp on the envelope, makes me happy that I lived another year.

I’m typically a sucker for shiny things. Cards with gold or silver foil are typically what I buy.
I was taught in business that my cards cannot read “Merry Christmas”. They must be neutral and wish everyone “Happy Holidays” so not to exclude or offend anyone that receives my cheer note.

While I follow the rules, that does not diminish my joy or my desire to find the brightest, happiest greeting that I can find.

But on the dusty, cluttered shelf, this card was different.

This one made me stop and think.

In red font, with a floating snowflake behind the print it simply read:

Whatever is true,

Whatever is noble,

Whatever is right,

Whatever is pure,

Whatever is lovely,

Whatever is admirable,

If anything is excellent

Or praiseworthy—

Think about such things.

Those words floating on the page made me stop and think of you and I and our lives intertwined. We have all survived another year, during recession. Some of us lost our jobs. Some of us kept our jobs and worked longer, hoping each day to not get the pink slip. We cut back. We took a good, hard look at our finances and lifestyle while the world around us unwound. Healthcare, bank failures, buyouts, bailouts filled our conversations.

Could it get any worse?

Then a card, in a store on aisle nine. Reminding me to find the good. That it is always possible to find some small good in people, places and things around me.

It reminded me to stop being so external and to pull my energy inward in quiet contemplation.
To remember that this will all shift and end and we will all be something different when it is over.

To remember to see the joy, and that just remembering to see it, is a choice.

If anything is excellent, or praiseworthy, think about such things.

Think about such things…….such a small statement that would bring such power to us all if we did that one small step.

Tis the Season!

2009-11-19T13:10:00.000-06:00

It's a tough time when you are unemployed around the holidays.

You feel the world slow down around you and the vortex that pulls you back into family and friends.

Merry making. Isn't that what you are supposed to be doing? Making merry?

Tell me how you feel when your brother in law strolls up to you on Turkey day with a smug smile in his warm sweater and says, "Find a job, yet?"

I know what you feel, but please don't hit him.

And I know what you are thinking. There is NO AMOUNT of eggnog and brandy that will make me feel any better about any of this.

Followed by:

Dear GOD - how can I get through these dinners???

Sit with me for a minute. Come here...........sit.....................

Look at me..............let me tell you the truth about your family and these holiday gatherings.

This is it.
Are you ready?
Here comes the truth.

They are thoughtless and don't know what to say to you.

It is that simple.

They have no idea. They know it's been six months for you out of work, they have heard stories about you through the family and honestly when they look you in the eye, over dinner, they don't know what to say.

So they lead the conversation with, "Find work?"

Forgive them. Have some compassion. Do a bait and switch. Talk about the football game. Talk about their kids or their life. Get the topic off of you.

And while it stings for you, know that this doesn't last forever.

This time will pass.

Next year, you won't be the gossip and focus of the dinner conversation.

Chances are, they will go pick on someone else.

I am thinking of all of you this holiday season, applauding your bravery and holding the vision of you finding the next job.

But for now, let's just get through dinner, shall we?

Candid Interview Feedback

2009-11-05T17:18:00.000-06:00

I value truth above all things.

And, over the years as a headhunter, I've been put to the test to tell the hard truth to candidates. It wasn't easy, but it was the right thing to do.

Like why they didn't get the job, for example.

No, I'm talking about the real reason. Not the canned answer, "Your not a good fit".

Seriously, who needs that for feedback? There is nothing to learn from that comment.

But I figured if no one told you, you'd never learn. I didn't do it to hurt, but to correct, so going forward you'd improve and next time land the job.

It's that overwhelming heavy feeling of responsibility that comes over me that makes me do these things.

For the greater good.

For you.

And I never understood why recruiters just don't tell the truth.

It leaves the person in transition feeling lost and incomplete.

Most of all, it makes them start to question their value as a person.

And I can't have that.

So instead I'll tell the truth.

Gently.

And you will leave the conversation in tact and with your dignity.

Stress in the Spouse of the Unemployed

2009-10-26T17:21:00.000-05:00

I met her at a cocktail party and quickly learned her husband had been laid off. Embarrassed, she broke into tears. She had heard that I was a career coach and wanted to know if I could help her husband. Holding what was a napkin to dab her eyes she exclaimed, "Will he be alright? When will he find work? I don't know how to support him through this. He's been out of work for months."

I think we become so focused on the person who has suffered the job loss that we forget the family as a whole. Spouses, and wives in particular, feel deeply when her mate loses a job. She doesn't know how to 'fix' him and feels abandoned at times while he leaves the room to figure out his future. What is misunderstood is that he needs to do this.

A man has to gather his strength in order to come back to he relationship, and I'd venture to guess that this pattern started in the cave man days. Life was simple. There weren't SUV's and American Express Cards. It was simply the notion to go out, kill and eat it. End of story. The females role was to take care of the cave and the children. Together they formed a valuable team and created their survival.

Life isn't that easy any more. We are all competing to get our needs met and our feelings validated. A job loss can signify the end of a life style. Or, it can mean the beginning of true partnership.

Be gentle with each other.

He will find work. Your lives will go on. This is a small blip on the radar screen that hardly amounts to anything of magnitude, although it feels like that today.

Let him gather his strength. Let him re-create who he is so he can move forward.

Don't ask him when you come home from work if he found a job.

You'll be the first to know.

And when you do that, he feels failure and it starts an endless cycle that is hard to break.

Be kind to one another.

This too shall pass....

An Author's Biggest Fear

2009-08-30T11:24:00.000-05:00

I don't know if you know this little tidbit, but after an author finishes a book, they are supposed to do something private and wonderful to celebrate the completion of a creation.

Steven King smokes an expensive cigar. I think I read that years ago. It was something like that.

And it supposed to be a very private moment.

Just you, yourself and a pile of pages that is now a book.

Your creation. Your baby. Your gift to the world.

Think of the words 'book release'. Well, nothing quite sums it up like those words.

Release - to give away to the world, to let go.

And risk being told that what you actually did was write a bunch of useless crap.

Only the very brave put their most intimate thoughts in words on paper for the world to see.

I rarely think what I write is great. Others tell me it is, but I always doubt it on some level.

They tell me all artists are critical of their work.

Maybe so.

After I finished Recession Proof Yourself! I realized that I had no ritual.

I don't drink.

I don't smoke.

This made me panic a bit, because I knew the book wouldn't be complete without some sort of ceremony to celebrate it's birthing process.

My husband was away so privacy wasn't an issue. I decided to take on a small art project as a ceremony and make a small collage about the book.

This was no easy task, let me tell you.

I am NOT artistic at all.

No, seriously, I'm not.

I can't even draw a stick figure. People confuse my stick figures for Chinese symbols because they don't look like people at all.

Standing at Michael's craft shop I felt like a total impostor. Surely, they would all know that I had no business being here since I was buying stickers and poster board.

I spent hours with glue, tacks and chicken wire to put it together, but when it was done, it was beautiful.

On gold paper, were quotes to remind me of the importance of what I was doing and how this was about others.

And it was to remind me to release it - let it go and let it fall where it may. Some will like it. Others will not.

One quote read: First say to yourself what would you be; and then do what you have to do.

Another read: The greatest use of a LIFE is to spend it on something that outlasts it.

That one always make me tear up because my own mortality hits home.

I had no children. No part of me to pass on.

I have no tribe.

I'm the cheese that stands alone.

Cancer reminds you that you don't get to live forever, and if I only had one last breath, this is what I would be honestly doing with my life - helping those in transition.

And I never get to quite forget my bout with cancer, because every six months I get another skin screen from the Good Doctor, who smiles every time he sees me.

We're pals.

We've been through a lot.

Me, him and his scalpel.

I silently pray that he is really looking at me when he does his examination.
I hope he never mistakes a freckle for a spot that grew and slowly rotted out my insides only to hear, "Sorry, Elizabeth. We didn't catch it. Your stage four."

But they can never take my words away, written on the pages.

I will have left something behind, much bigger than me.

I will have lived a life that mattered.

To someone.

To that someone who bought the book.

There was no cigar smoke that day, nor a thimble full of good scotch to toast.

Instead, a sign hangs in my bedroom, reminding me each morning to get the book out there, and do what I have to do.

A Shout Out to the Unemployed

2009-08-13T21:43:00.000-05:00

The map hung across the room looking at me, without blinking.

I stared at it and whispered, 'Where are you?'

California is colored orange.
Michigan is colored pink.
Nevada is colored yellow.

All 50 states stood stony eyed, looking at me.

Waiting.

There are fourteen and a half million people in the US that are unemployed right now, according to the Bureau of Labor and Statistics.

This keeps me up at night.

I will find you.

Until there is no breath in my body, I will look for you.

Because I believe I can help.

It's not ego or vanity. I've just done this too many times. I've worked with hundreds of laid off workers, most of them professionals who needed a hand to get them from Point A to Point B.

What do I do?

I perform triage on the spirit when someone gets laid off. I'm there for you to emotionally throw up all over me. When you are done and feel better, we'll commence in the job search.

Don't get me wrong, I like it.

If you are there and listening, I need to let you know:

You have a right to be frustrated.
You have a right to be scared.
You have a right to feel despair, just don't pitch a tent there.

I will find you.

I am here.

My name is Elizabeth Lions.

I can help.

Laid off after 17 years of service

2009-08-04T22:29:00.000-05:00

I've always been very grateful for all the wonderful people that I've met due to my line of work as a career coach. Much of what others have shared with me has been humbling.

To be trusted as such a deep level.

To have the privilege of listening to another.

To witness their power and their growth, knowing they don't share this stuff with anyone else.

Keeping their secrets.

Holding the space until they grow and move into the next job. Knowing they can do it when they are sure they cannot.

Some days it brings me to my knees and I'm overwhelmed by the human spirit.

But there is always that one client that sticks out in your mind.

I met him at a networking event where I was the key note speaker. He took a job as an intern, as a mechanical engineer. They offered him a full time job - and he took it.

And he held that one job for seventeen years.

Think about that.

I've known marriages that didn't last that long.

For 17 years he drove to the same building - every day.
He worked side by the side with the same people - every day.
And one day he came into work and they just laid him off.

I'll never forget how unflappable he was even though he was out of a job.

This man had no idea how to interview.

He didn't even know how to apply online. Why would he? He had never had to look for a job.

He vacillated between being extremely excited about his new options and overwhelmed.

I vowed to keep track of him long after our sessions exhausted just to ensure he had a safe landing.

Ok, let's face it - I just wanted the happy ending.

We spent the next six weeks getting his resume and cover letter ready and preparing him for his upcoming interviews. He hadn't interviewed since college and now at 40, he was a bit concerned about how he would do it. I encouraged him to network as much as possible to uncover possible job leads. He followed the system I outlined in a detailed manner. He was committed to my service outline and moving forward.

After nearly 4 months without work and few interviews, he emailed. I intuitively picked up his discouragement though the airwaves.

"Measure success differently." I told him. "Success doesn't mean getting the job. Sometimes it just means applying to several opportunities. Sometimes it's following up. Sometimes when it's really bad, success is just getting out of bed. Being discouraged and depressed is ok. Just don't pitch a tent there."

I do understand that it's tough out there. But do not forget who you really are and what you came here to do.

Never lose sight of that.

Applying to Jobs Online - No Response

2009-08-03T22:28:00.000-05:00

When you are unemployed, life feels like:

Get online.
Look for jobs.
Apply into electronic cyberspace.
Repeat.
Hope this all ends soon.

It's very frustrating. And confusing. Why don't you hear back?

Well, you may not like this response, but it's the truth. This isn't about you, necessarily.

Think about it from the employer's perspective.

For example, a client of mine posted an ad for a Plant Manufacturing Engineer. She's in HR and got 600 resumes.

Yes, that's what I said.

600.

I asked her what she did. She said she hired an intern to go through all 600 and put them into piles to help her organize the candidates. Frankly, I thought it was really impressive that she did this since she sincerely didn't want to miss out on a good hire.

In two weeks she was down to 60 resumes.

Keep in mind there is one job, located in Oregon.

So, she won't even get to interviews for another two weeks.

Perhaps you applied yesterday.

Get it?

It's not fun at all, but hang in there. It's all a part of the process.

Do NOT give up!