When Freedom Rang - A Story of Startup Failure

Today marks one full year since I’ve worked for somebody else. It was precisely 365 days ago that I arrived at work and learned that the company had gone completely out of business. Spent all the money. Didn’t turn a profit. Deep in the red. Over. Done. Goodbye.

Some people, when they lose their job, get stressed out and even depressed. Not me. I was relieved. Let me tell you something about companies that go under. They die. And it’s a slow, painful death. Such an organization succumbs to a disease and that disease is called failure. It reaches out and infects everyone in the company, all its employees, vendors, customers, investors. You can smell the tension and uncertainty as employees become concerned about whether they’ll have a paycheck next month, and there’s an uneasiness in the way everyone talks about the future — next week’s meetings, next month’s product launch, next summer’s industry convention — there’s always an “if” dangling from their lips, as in “if we’re still around.”

Usually everyone knows long before the closure that it’s a looming possibility. It helps to know in advance, because then you have the option of getting a head start on the job search, planning your vacation, or scheduling your upcoming daytime TV lineup. I had about a two-week warning, and that was more than enough. It was a startup company, and I understood the risks involved. It was one of the reasons I had been so eager to take the job in the first place. Startups are exciting, there are tons of opportunities for upward mobility and employees who get in early stand to make a pretty penny through stock options if such a company succeeds. Sadly, they rarely do. If the company fails, then you collect your unemployment and move on. I can be melodramatic and sometimes I overreact, but I’ve worked for two companies that went under and both times I felt like someone had just cut my shackles and I didn’t shed a single tear.

Since I’d been through a startup failure before, I knew what to expect and what to look for.

The signs were all there: upper management starts to disappear one by one, some find work elsewhere because they know the end is near, others get laid off or even fired. They tell you it’s restructuring but it’s really a final desperate attempt to downsize and cut back costs. Workers start perusing the Internet relentlessly as the projects coming down the pipeline slim considerably. A bunch of monitors display glimpses of Craigslist and Monster before their users abruptly minimize the window, realizing that someone’s watching. Managers take long lunches and come back to the office drunk. People stand around, spend most of the day chattering or whispering behind their cubicle walls. Everyone starts coming in late and leaving early. Gossip reaches an all time high, and the thread of decency that makes office professionals behave politely toward one another, even when they loathe each other — well that thread snaps.

It’s awkward to enter a company just before it goes down.

I’d only been there for about seven months, so when the ship started sinking, I hadn’t even settled in yet. I’m what you’d call slow to warm. As a result, I had never really felt comfortable, although I enjoyed the work I did, and loved the products we were making. I found it difficult to relate to most of the people who worked there, although there were a few that I liked and got along with, and I had a cool boss. But I just didn’t quite fit in. I might have, given another few months, but unfortunately, there just wasn’t enough time for me to feel like myself in that place.

It didn’t help matters that I had to sit by a crazy girl who suffered from illusions of grandeur — a curiously evil individual who had a special dislike for me because I refused to let her push me around. She sat there all day slinging veiled and catty insults at me.

I was my own little island, and I often reminisced about my previous job, where I had loved — make that adored — everyone I worked with.

If there’s one thing I know about working in the corporate environment, it’s this: pay matters and the work matters too, but nothing has a greater impact on your workplace happiness than the people you are surrounded by. That’s how it is for me, anyway. With all the tension, my discomfort, and crazy Jane sitting two feet away, going to work every day was less than joyous.

So when I showed up one March morning and found a sign on the front door announcing the company’s termination, I wanted to get on my knees and give thanks to the universe for setting me free. Once inside, I did experience a brief moment of regret, a twinge of nostalgia for what could have been. My boss asked, “What will you do?” My response was completely unplanned, “I think I’m going to start freelance writing.” While the idea had crossed my mind, it wasn’t something I’d considered seriously, and I was a little surprised to hear my own answer. I just never want to sit in a damn cubicle again, I thought, and walked out the door.

And here I am, one year later - a full time freelance writer and web publisher. Granted, it took me about six months to recover and get my little business going, but I did it. Now I’m my own boss and I get to decide who I sit next to. Usually, it’s my cat. Hey, it’s a writer’s life.

So when you get laid off, or the company sinks, know that it’s probably going to lead to much better things. Look at it as an opportunity to take the reins of your life and ride down a better path. That might sound cheesy but it’s true. I’m living proof.