Life Takes Another Detour

Blog # 5

On January 3, 2020, my divorce was final. Soon after, I signed away my ownership of the house that I had lived in for 20 years with my husband and three kids. My now ex would own the house by himself, and he would refinance the mortgage so he could buy me out for 50 percent of the market value of the home, as per our divorce settlement.

In early February, I received that check. It was a nice amount, as the house had appreciated a lot over the years, and I put it in the bank, planning to research later how to invest some of it for my future retirement. I also planned to pay off all my debts that had been adding up.

Everything was good. I had a great apartment and dog near a job that I loved, I had three kids who were turning out to be wonderful young adults, and now I had some financial security. What could go wrong?

The next day, I went into work and mid-morning, after being called into the Human Resources department, I discovered that I was out of a job, effective immediately.

To my surprise, the company (the National Science Teaching Association) had to cut a certain percentage of the total staff due to serious budgetary problems. And in my department, the last editor hired was the first one to be let go. So, speechless and numb, I took the papers they handed me and went to my office to pack up my things. I soon learned I was one of several layoffs that day.

The layoffs may have seemed out of the blue, but I realized that there had been some telltale signs. When staff members had resigned in the past few months, they were not replaced. Company plans for a needed renovation of our old building had been put off. And an outside consultant firm had come last year to observe us and evaluate the company’s effectiveness and give suggestions. I guess I should have known. But I never thought my job was in danger, because our department head, in the book publishing division (NSTA Press), had been reporting that our particular sales were up in the past few quarters. We always had good reviews for the Press, and my job evaluations were positive and complimentary.

So it was a shock. Even though it was explained to me that my termination had nothing to do with the quality of my work, and my boss and department head promised to give me great references, I still felt crushed as I left my little office for the last time. I carried my personal things in a couple of tote bags I had been given and took the elevator down to the parking garage for one last ride. I felt sad seeing my name on the wall over my car — this job was the only time I had ever had a private office with nameplate at the door and my own parking space with another nameplate over it. I would miss everything about the job.

I drove home that morning, not ever expecting to be showing up at my apartment like that, so soon after leaving. My mind was whirling. I knew that I would get severance benefits and vacation pay and eventually my retirement account proceeds. I also had been given a letter I could use to apply for unemployment with the state. But still, it was a lot to process.

For one thing, I had moved into my expensive apartment nearby in Arlington to be close to work. I was within walking distance and I loved that. And now the job was over. I didn’t have a parking space in this busy urban neighborhood — I had been keeping my car at work. Everything about my life in Arlington was centered around that job. Now what would I do? I still had six months left on my lease.

At home, I sat stunned for a while, trying to figure out who I should tell this news to, and when and how I would tell them. It was especially hard telling my kids, for they knew I moved from our town of Vienna to the city of Arlington to be closer to that job. And even though the kids were mostly grown, I had felt some guilt about that. Now I was stuck in Arlington with no family or friends nearby, and no job to make up for it.

I was paralyzed for one day, not doing much around the apartment, and then I went into motion the next day: filing for unemployment, telling everybody the news, getting back on the job boards, even returning an email for a temporary work opportunity that coincidentally came in the day that I got laid off. I needed to move forward. I would have to take this speed bump in stride and figure out the next steps of my life….

* * *

For many years prior, I had always thought that some day, I would end up in warmer climes. I started off my life in Chicago, freezing my butt off throughout the cold winters of my childhood. After college I headed east, to Baltimore, and then a few years later moved down to Washington, DC. The longer I was away from the “windy city,” the less accustomed to and fond of the cold I became.

Vacations to California, Florida, and the Caribbean made me long for warmer days and more temperate climates. If I traveled to tropical places in the winter, I hated coming back to the DC area. I started to tell myself that in retirement, I could move south. I pictured myself surrounded by palm trees, wearing shorts and flip flops, my winter coats and boots packed tightly away. In those images of the future, I didn’t see my husband. I guess I always knew that we wouldn’t end up together.

Once I was separated and living in my own apartment, I began to dabble in occasional web surfing to look at nice, picturesque locales in Florida. I told myself it would be for after my youngest graduated from college. I researched which areas of the traditionally “red” state that liberal-leaning people retired to. Of course, I would rather move to California, a “blue” state, but the distance from Virginia (where my two sons and daughter were) to the left coast would be way too far. While my kids were in Virginia colleges or at their house in Northern Virginia, I had to pick a future home for myself that would just be a two-hour plane ride away.

I narrowed it down to southeast Florida, near the Atlantic ocean, and in three areas that typically voted more for Democrats: Palm Beach County, Broward County, and the Miami region. In the months leading up to my unexpected job layoff, I began to research communities in those three areas. I discovered something called an “active adult” community, where people 55 and up lived in beautifully landscaped, gated enclaves that included clubhouses, swimming pools, tennis courts, pickleball courts, and more.

I didn’t see these places as old-people communities so much as developments that were a transition from family life with kids in the years before one might move on to assisted living. The scenery, amenities, and wide range of activities in these communities were enticing. As a tennis player and someone who liked recreational and social events, I thought it would be a good fit for me, someday.

I was 56. I figured I would do it by the time I was 60, when my youngest, Rachel, would be finishing up college. I had four years to pick out the perfect active adult community for me in the best blue county. I would research and ask around to find out where the liberal Jews (even though I am not Jewish) from New York and New England retired to when they couldn’t take the cold anymore. Wherever they ended up seemed like the perfect place for me.

I was excited about my future plan and even mentioned it to a few family members and friends. As I trudged through the cold, windy streets of Arlington, VA, walking my dog that winter, I imagined that day in four years when he and I could ride out the winters in sunny Florida. A condition I always had in dry, cold weather — chapped, chafed, red skin over and under my lips — was in full force in January 2020. It was painful as usual, and embarrassing when it flared up in public. I knew when I moved to Florida in the future, that problem would be gone. So would my constantly cold toes in the cold winter weather, a discomfort that came along with my increasing arthritis.

And then, on February 4, I lost my job. It was literally a day after I received the divorce settlement check in the mail. After getting through the shock, and mourning the loss of a great full-time position involved in book publishing, I wrapped my head around the fact that I didn’t need to be in Arlington anymore. I had moved there to be near the job. And, actually, I didn’t even need to be in Northern Virginia now, with Rachel planning to go away to college later that year.

So all the signs seemed to push me in a new direction: of going forward with a plan that I had thought about for the future, but now seemed more imminent. Why not move to Florida this year?

Here was my 2020 timeline:

• Divorce finalized on January 3.

• Settlement check arrives on February 3.

• Reason for living alone in Arlington (dream job) ends on February 4.

• Youngest child graduating in June and leaving home in August.

• Apartment lease ending in August.

So I was going to have to transition again. There was no longer any reason to stay in Arlington. And if I was going to move, it made sense to stop apartment hopping and buy a home with the money I had just received from my divorce.

Just like that, I decided: I am going to fly down to Florida, look at the active adult communities in my chosen counties, shop for homes on the market there, and see if it is something I really want to do. Maybe I could even get Rachel to look at universities in Florida. She had not yet settled on any college decisions, and was still in the process of applying to schools and hearing back from some of them.

Of course, there was one little wrinkle that was about to rear its ugly head in the coming weeks: the COVID-19 pandemic. But at the time, it was just a blip on the radar. And I was ready to inch forward with my crazy new plan!

And so my life was about to take an abrupt, unexpected detour. Stay tuned.

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