This is a good moment for catching up with old friends, distant cousins, former colleagues, and that neighbor you only exchange a dozen words with on most days. (Also, evergreen advice: give your parents a call, you never call them enough.)
I’ve had a bit of extra time recently for catch-up conversations. One common theme of those chats has been a sense of grief. Several friends have seen their professional lives—their life’s work even—upended in just two months. One friend described how he was working through the stages of grief (denial, anger, acceptance, etc.) after the agency where he’d worked for over a decade was shut down. Another talked about a tension between mourning her own job loss while seeing far worse happen to immigrant families, student protesters with visas, and anyone living on the economic edge if not for public programs supporting them.
Our individual heartbreak is nested in the sadness of every unique experience during this assault on the public goods and services that make modern life possible. It’s amplified by the hollowing out of our governing institutions and norms by a global coalition of authoritarians and grifters. Layered on top is the anger over the injustice of it all and anxiety over the future.
It’s a lot to carry.
Publicly, we’ve seen anger on display at Republican town halls, outside Tesla dealerships, and (occasionally but not often enough) from elected Democrats.
But the grief and sadness are less visible. These are usually private feelings in our society. Anyone who’s lost a loved one knows the feeling: everyone sends condolences, joins the shared mourning rituals, and then goes back to their lives. The circle of who feels the daily absence shrinks. If you hold the sadness too long, inevitably someone says it’s time to “accept it and move on” and all you can think is, how could I?
Grieving is a process. It takes time, even if it’s usually not as linear as the stages that get used as a pop culture trope. More importantly, shared loss requires shared grieving. The circle of who’s experiencing this current loss is unthinkably huge: literally billions of people will have their life trajectories changed by the deliberate and ongoing destruction of public institutions that, while deeply flawed, at least held out the promise of ongoing progress and aspired to accountability when they failed.
Some will celebrate these losses, because they think that they’ll benefit. Others were long ago disillusioned with American exceptionalism, and maybe think the losses are overblown. But for those who are feeling the sense of loss, it’s important to share that. Connect with others, mourn together, talk about the things that make you sad or angry, and celebrate life where you can.
It’s not cynicism or doomerism to acknowledge the depth of what’s happening. It’s not acceptance or acquiescence to still find joy in life. As we often tell little kids: all feelings are valid. What matters is what we do with those feelings.
You’re receiving this post because you subscribed to the Open CoLab newsletter at some point in the past. Open CoLab was my independent consulting practice for about eight years, and it was also the name of the accompanying irregular newsletter. I shuttered both when I took a Managing Director role with the Economic Security Project in 2023.
Unfortunately, a few weeks ago, my role was eliminated in a restructure, and I joined many others who found themselves laid off in recent weeks—for slightly different though not totally unrelated reasons to what’s decimating the federal workforce.
So now I’m at one of those critical junctions that are filled with questions. Is the consulting practice back? Is the newsletter? Not quite but also a little bit yes, on both accounts. I might take some consulting work, but I’m focused on finding another full-time role, which is why I’m not really re-lauching “Open CoLab” per se. I’ll be writing here in the meantime and will likely re-name this newsletter.
Meanwhile, I’m finding time for new things. This week I’ll be joining our second-grader’s class field trip for the first time as a chaperone: we’re going to a heritage center in Weeksville, one of the first and largest free Black communities in the country before the Civil War.
I’ve also taken up biking after my knees decided that two decades of running was enough for them. I’m reading more—though most of it is Dr. Seuss or Daniel Tiger books, with our toddler. And I’m rediscovering music I haven’t listened to in a long time: this newsletter was written to the dulcet tones of Rage Against the Machine, who remind us that anger is a gift.
If you work in the democracy/justice/social change sectors or if recent events have made you consider it, here are some places to look for roles beyond the obvious (like LinkedIn or Idealist):
I shared these and more in a recent LinkedIn post, which has almost 100 comments (!) many including more resources. Check out the full list here.
There’s also one specific resource I’d recommend, if it applies to you: this “Checklist for Laid Off or Let Go” is great. It’s a supplement to Phyl Terry’s Never Search Alone, which I haven’t read but many people seem to like it.
Lastly: next Tuesday I’ll be joining a virtual event called “Job Searching: From Chaos to Calm” (and who doesn’t need that??) hosted by Ted Fickes. It’ll feature two expert recruiters and coaches—I’m neither, but I’ll share my experience as both a hiring manager and job applicant in this space.
20 Elections to Watch This April [Daniel Nichanian / Bolts Mag]
Liberal Philanthropy’s Misguided Quest for “Joe Rogan of the Left” [Waleed Shahid and Francesca Fiorentini]
Navigating Trans Day of Visibility in Trump's America [Parker Molloy]
WATCH: Free America! [Anand Giridharadas and Anat Shenker-Osorio]
Why Everyone Thinks Their Government Has Failed [Moisés Naím / The Atlantic]
The Pluralistic Ignorance of the Trump Opposition [Daniel Drezner]
Don’t Be a Sucker [Department of Defense, 1945]
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