I Might Be Getting Fired
I might be getting fired.
I’ve never been fired before. Now that the likelihood looms, I actually feel guilty that I have made it 51 years without doing anything important enough to threaten the narrow minded among us.
***
My first job was scooping ice cream one town over from where I lived in high school. I was eventually promoted to ice cream maker, and it was probably the best job I’ve ever had. I ate unlimited ice cream and made my own hours with one guiding responsibility: never let the freezers run out of any of the flavors. I tried to stir the thick, sweet rum syrup for the rum raisin ice cream into cups of fountain Coca-Cola. It tasted like shit, and I had to slurp it more than drink it, but it gave me the naughty little kick teenagers brag about to their classmates. I left that job to work at Sam Goody, a music store selling CDs and tapes. Even though I had to wear a tie and work in the mall, music was way cooler than ice cream for a high schooler. Drudgery quickly replaced coolness as I was tasked with alphabetizing all day, everyday. Put out the new shipments, restock returned CDs and tapes and fix the disorder created by careless shoppers who clearly didn’t know their ABCs. That job sucked, and it made me feel like a criminal when the manager patted me down after every shift, or even when I went to the food court for a Wetzel’s Pretzel.
I worked for an alcoholic landscaper. He was a hungover nightmare every morning, and a drunk asshole at the end of the day. When he brought me my sack lunch in the industrial complex garden I was weeding every noontime, he was buzzed and cheerful. That job sucked, too, but I didn’t have the balls to quit, so I told him I had mono and needed a couple of weeks off. I just never went back.
I bartended and coached youth soccer in college. I got off work at the bar at 5am on Saturday mornings, and coached soccer at 7am. That is where I developed helpful mantras like, “I’ll get all the sleep I need when I’m dead.” When I got my first real job after college, I had a boss who constantly reminded his sales minions to, “Work hard, play hard.” All of these experiences were not-so-subtle little nudges toward the cliff’s edge for this budding alcoholic.
It is one thing to approach the cliff’s edge, but it takes an entirely different set of circumstances to encourage the final steps and the jump off. I left the steel industry to run our own whole grain bread bakery with my wife just as the low-carb craze was kicking in. Fifteen years of financial insecurity constantly vibrated through my bones like the low hum of a refrigerator compressor causing permanent damage to someone who was used to clearing with ease the low barriers to success in life. That experience threatened my marriage, made me a moody parent and poured cold water on the flame of optimism that burns naturally in my soul.
I learned that alcohol was not just for having fun. Alcohol was like earmuffs. When I drank, I couldn’t hear the refrigerator.
As much as I hate financial insecurity, I have grown comfortable living in a state of constant threat. I empathize with the residents of Ukraine and Jerusalem and Gaza who surely don’t jump when they hear the missile sirens anymore (I am not comparing my middle-class ease to living in a war zone – empathy is not equivalence). I am familiar with situational numbness. I can now slip naturally into that mental state without the aid of a liquid toxin. Numbness is my superpower, although my superpower is inconsistent. Some nights the refrigerator compressor is still too loud for me to get any sleep.
So the fact that I might be getting fired probably sounds like a threat to my very fragile sense of security – like someone is pouring boiling water in my path as I shuffle along on the thin ice. As is the case for many flailing entrepreneurs, the job that is being threatened is one of several pieces of my financial puzzle. I actually quite like piecing it all together this way (or at least I have grown used to it). The job that is threatened carries little financial compensation, but it is quite important to my equally fragile sense of identity.
I work with kids in several ways – through nonprofit work, through our church and in two big, local organizations. In one of those capacities, an influential community group doesn’t like that I write about sex and addiction, and also work with kids. They are the ones boiling the water.
My lack of clarity serves two purposes. In the unlikely event that I survive their challenge professionally, I probably shouldn’t be specific here in an effort toward restoring harmony in our cohabitated community. But more importantly, I am not calling out my nemeses by name because it is not about them. There are countless people, organizations and revved-up neighborhoods of well-meaning misguideds who think talking about sex and working with kids is an unrighteous combination. Naming specifics here takes the attention off the societal problem and my personal problem, and gives you a name to hate or side with, depending on your personal moral code or bias. They are not the point. The disservice that they do, along with the many other truth-deniers among us, is the point.
And I am the point. I’m the one probably getting fired. This is my story. This might cost me a job that I deeply love, but I won’t let them steal my narrative, too, or silence me at a time when speaking out is the only weapon we have against stigma and taboo. There are those among us who still believe that alcoholism is the moral failing or lack of willpower of the gutter drunk who will die in a puddle of his own feces. They think that if they convince their kids that sex is only for a man and woman who love each other and get married, that their kids will grow up to be healthy and happy without maladaptive coping mechanisms, sexual desire discrepancy or a lack of emotional safety in their marriages. They hope to pass their blissful ignorance on to the next generation of deniers and down stuffers. They don’t want to address the tough stuff for fear of talking it into existence. Or for so many, they just can’t go there. It is not a matter of morality or willingness. They just really can’t.
I get it. I have empathy for all of the above. Not some condescending, “holier than thou” pity. True empathy, because I used to be afraid to talk about the unspeakable, too. For me, I just drank the hard topics away.
My message is important to me. I am not under the delusion that I am going to convince anyone otherwise who has already made up her mind. Have humans ever lived in a time with less willingness to consider alternative opinions and learn from the experiences of others? We have tools to shout our opinions into the wind, and most of us have hoarse vocal cords while our ears are as under utilized as a clitoris in a young-adult sexual encounter.
My message is for me. When I write, I release the pressure. I used to scoff when people would say things like, “If my message helps just one person, it is worth it.” One person, I used to think. My message better reach more than one person, or why would I spend the time writing and talking this all out? But I was wrong. My message truly is just for one person. Me. Relate. Don’t relate. Agree. Disagree. Appreciate the destigmatization, or think I am crossing a line. That is about you. And if you want to form a posse and take something that I love away from me, it is going to have to be something more than this job before I shut up, because I value my own authenticity way above your opinion about the relevance and applicability of my experiences.
I have long talked about the importance of vulnerability. I have espoused that, with only minor exceptions, vulnerability has always been all upside for me. Deeper connections, tighter bonds and so much learning have been the inevitable result of brutally revealing honesty. I have never faced consequences from my vulnerability.
Until now.
Now, I’m probably going to lose a job I love because there is so little about which I feel shame. That is a consequence. Not so much financially. Not to the detriment of my family or close friends. But I will have something really important taken from me.
A friend of mine texted me that he is praying for me and my situation. He said that he hopes I do not get fired, but if I do, he will pray that whatever comes next will be even better than that job I will lose. He reminded me of how many times in my life that things have not gone according to plan. How many times I have had to bounce back, adjust, pivot, consider alternatives and rise from the ashes. I am a recovered alcoholic, after all. There have been a lot of ashes.
Addiction was not part of my master plan. But alcoholism has given me connections, bonds, empathy, shared purpose and love like nothing else in my life. I would not wish alcoholism on my worst enemy, but at the same time, I weep with gratitude for the lessons that my hardships have taught me.
My friend is right. If I lose this job, whatever comes next will be better. It will be better because I will make it better. As long as it doesn’t involve putting cassette tapes or compact disks in alphabetical order, it will be better. It will be better because it is my destiny, which means I will be there telling stories. And I like my stories.
That’s a lot of confident boldness for someone who might be getting fired.
If you are ready to hear and tell stories, and move toward your authenticity, your destiny, without alcohol, consider joining us in SHOUT Sobriety.
16 Comments
“…while our ears are as under utilized as a clitoris in a young-adult sexual encounter…” Oh my god Matt, you wonderful hilarious human being you. I really hope you don’t get fired, but now seems like a good time to remind you how much I admire you. Lots of love!
I giggled when those words pecked out of my finger tips, too. The truth is funny sometimes. I love you, too, Barbara.
I am in full support of your vulnerability, authenticity, and living your empathy-filled truth. You are a superhero. Keep doing what you’re doing. And I agree with your friend because everything works out exactly how it is supposed to work out.
Thanks for your unwavering support, Sharon!
I hope they don’t fire you. I have been a pretty consistent reader of your posts for a few years. You have contributed to my imperfect sobriety. Thank you.
Thanks for reading and thanks for the kind wishes, Wayne! Keep going. None of us are perfect.
Matt, stay strong and committed to your calling. I am very proud of you!
Love you.
Dad
Thank you, Dad. I love you, too!
Matt,
I’m sorry this is happening to you, but think is just adds to your resume. “Fired for the courage of my commitment to speaking truth.”
Not a bad tagline.
Thank you, Melanie! That’s a really good way to look at it.
Matt – You take the high road so well.!
Whatever the Universe has in store, you will be able to hold your head up and know that the world is a better place because of you. You aspire to be true to yourself and others.
I witness your actions as examples to live by that are so poignantly set forth in this great prayer from St. Francis:
Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is error, truth;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
To be understood as to understand;
To be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life
You do that! Thank you!
Rich
Wow Rich! So cool. Thank you for the encouragement to continue seek and share the truth.
Matt,
I always appreciate reading your pieces, and love the wit in your writing. Nothing to be ashamed of being authentic and honest. you help heal and make sense of recovery with your words to so many, keep it up!
Thanks brother,
Kyle
Thanks for your feedback, encouragement and friendship, Kyle!
I am very much excited about your future Matt, and I am happy for you!
Congratulations!! Whether it be this or something better!!
I love your support and perspective, my friend!