Days of Being Unemployed

I could never have imagined feeling like this.
When the Rocky Mountain News published for the last time on Friday, Feb. 27 and we all went into the newsroom the next day to pack up our desks, I thought I was about to embark on a great new journey.
I had it all figured out.
First, my wife and two kids would take a week to decompress. Get our bearings. Think of it as a mini-vacation where I'd spend time at home, play with my 2-year-old son and hold my 9-month-old daughter while the iPod blasted assorted Pearl Jam, Bruce Springsteen, Bob Marley and Dropkick Murphys tunes. We'd have ice cream in the afternoon and enjoy being together before I got to work in earnest in my next career - a screenwriter.
But one thing I learned about being a reporter was you could never anticipate the story. You just had to report the story as it happened. And what happened to me on Monday was not part of the script.
I was tense. I didn't feel like I was on vacation at all. I was worried. Suddenly, instead of seeing the week as a time to spend with my family, all I heard was the ticking clock counting down to no paychecks. Then what? Lose the house? All around me, there were hundreds of people scrambling to find work. A whole slew of journalists were suddenly competing for the same jobs. It was like I was still stretching at the starting line and the starter's gun went off and I was being passed by a field of runners.
In the days to follow, I did my best to make contacts, follow up on job opportunities all while trying to finish the final draft of my screenplay. It was less-than-ideal. But I also became aware of myself. The pressure to provide for my family suddenly came crashing down on me. I felt like I needed to do something. Fast.
I scrambled. I got a freelance piece assigned to write for The Denver Post. I made contacts in the political field to see what might be available there. Every email that was not returned or every phone call I made that didn't yield me a call back felt like a personal slight.
Then, it dawned on me. What I'm going through is exactly what more than 7 percent of the nation is going through - a loss of identity. Who am I? Am I a journalist? A writer? I know that I'm a husband and father, but those things don't pay the bills. You always hear how family is most important, but a job is pretty important as well to keep the family well-provided for.
It reminds me of that great scene in "It's a Wonderful Life" when Clarance the Angel is drying off after jumping into the river to save George Bailey. Bailey tells Clarance about the money he needs after it got lost in transit to the Savings and Loan. Clarance tells Bailey that they don't use or need money in heaven.
"Well, it comes in pretty handy down here, you know," Bailey tells Clarance.
I always thought that line was funny. It's still funny, but it strikes a little closer to home.