By Cory Busse

Jobless man struggles with shame, indignation in search

In first OSV column, newly laid-off father tries to find solace in numbers and symbols

On Jan. 14, 2009, I was laid off. Despite this being the worst economic crisis in more than a generation, my family and I have faith that everything will work out. But before I can tell you that story, I have to tell you this one...

Story No. 1: There's Strength in Numbers.

My layoff story is unremarkable. There were no fireworks. I was not escorted to the door by security with a cardboard box in my hands. I didn't strip naked and streak through the office spouting anti-employer rhetoric ... mostly because it was too cold outside. Instead, I quietly joined the ranks of more than 6.5 million other Americans who are out of work.

And that has been something of a comfort to me. I'm not alone in this. Don't get me wrong: If someone told me that I'd stay unemployed, but 6 million other people would go back to work, I'd take that deal. Heck, I'd sign on the dotted if it meant that the dozens of my colleagues who also have been laid off in recent months could keep their jobs. But nobody's offered me that deal. So I have to find solace in the old axiom, "misery loves company."

There is some emotional balm to the notion that I'm not the only one who is worried. I am not the only one who is scared. I am not the only one whose pride is smarting.

Then the doubt crept in. Why me? I was let go while others were kept on. Am I not as smart or as talented as I think I am? It's that kind of thinking -- that flavor of sour grapes -- that can eat a person alive. So, in the absence of a logical answer that really makes sense, I adopted another popular axiom: "Stuff happens."

That worked for a few days. And in that time a ray of hope appeared on the horizon.

I had an interview this week with a very smart, accomplished entrepreneurial CEO. We talked about my experience, the industry, people we know in common. I was confident. I was knowledgeable. I was qualified for this job. And then he asked me the single hardest question I've ever been asked: "Were you laid off because you were an underperformer?"

The temperature in my head rose about 15 degrees. A shame and indignation cocktail -- shaken, not stirred -- combined in my face to form a bright shade of red. It's one of those rhetorical questions designed more to see how a candidate responds than what a candidate says. Really, who in his or her right mind is going to answer: "Yep. I was. Now, about my six figures and that corner office?"

I'd be lying if I said that, in that moment, I thought of the Christian symbol of the fish -- the "Jesus fish" one sees adhered to trunks and bumpers of vehicles all over the country. In the earliest days of Christianity, believers were persecuted and fed to lions (among other things). It is said that when Christians in those difficult times came together, one of them would trace an arc in the sand with their foot. The other would follow suit, and the lines they drew on the ground would form the "Jesus fish." It was meant for Christians to identify one another without drawing attention to themselves. They did it because they were scared. They did it because they were worried. They did it to remind themselves that they were not alone.

But that image didn't occur to me in that moment. Instead, I thought of the dozens of my colleagues who have had their positions reduced or eliminated. I thought of the scores of my friends who still have their jobs and have offered their networks and their help (and in at least one case their basketball tickets) to make sure that I didn't feel like I was going it alone.

"No," I told the CEO. I'm not an underperformer. We're not deadweight. We didn't get our comeuppance. Stuff happens. It's happened to 6.5 million of us.

And if, as we encounter one another in this difficult time, we continue to draw those symbols in the sand and remind each other that we're not alone, the lions will go hungry. And we will prosper.

Cory Busse writes from Minnesota.