"Back to the Front"

A funny thing happened on the way to get my unemployment check from the mailbox a little while ago.

I got my old job back.

You never know how things are going to turn out.

In February, when I was told that I would have

to be let go from my job at the Los Angeles Daily News — because of a reduction in work force — I was somewhat prepared. I’d gotten a heads-up. It's a shame what's going on in the newspaper business. But when the phone call finally did come telling me that I had to go to Human Resources form my "final check," I was stunned.

So, I got on a train and headed north to my home in Santa Barbara. The shock of my not being gainfully employed remained for about a week or two. It took me a little while, but I finally settled into life outside the work force. It was pretty cool, after I’d wrapped my head around the idea. I took the dog on long walks to the beachfront and back. I went on long bike rides. I lost weight. I grew my hair. I even had a ‘fro going on. I started blogging and my writing got more attention. I reconnected with folks with whom I had lost touch. I was eating better. Even sleeping better. It was all good.

Mentally, I had moved on. I had turned the corner and began to move away from the profession that I had worked at for almost 20 years. It was a good run, at some good papers, with some good people. But it was time to move on. I’d looked into going back to school and had settled on a plan: media arts. Part of the Workforce Investment Act. And the unemployment checks had started. Between those and some freelancing, I figured I might be able to get by. At least for a while. 

Good to go.

So — about a month after I got laid off — I got word that I was being called back into action, back to duty. I had some mixed feelings … at first. No more waking up when I felt like it and spending part of the day figuring out what I was going to do. No more bottomless cups of coffee and reading the paper cover to cover while looking out at the waters of the Pacific in sunny Santa Barbara.

What to do? What to do?

Here it is, two months after my return and I’m back to “normal.” Working nights. Not always eating right. Not getting nearly enough regular exercise. Not spending as much quality time at home as I’d like. Back to the front. And I got a haircut, too.

I still get a rush whenever I see the newspaper front that I worked on the night before … prominently displayed in a newsstand … and someone stops to read a headline I wrote. Back to the front.

I’m STILL happy to be a journalist. I can't think of many other things I'd rather be doing. I’m in for the long haul — until the wheels fall off.