In early October of last year, I went into the main office at work. When I started working there, we had just one child, a tiny, two week old, little girl. On my last day with the company, I walked in the office over 12 years later, now the father of 5 children.
“Times are tough,” my boss explained as we sat down in his humble office. “We need to let you go.” My long-time friend, who also happened to be my boss, continued with tears in his eyes.
While he talked on, I tried to listen. But the problem solver down deep inside me went to work on the immediate problem at hand: How am I going to feed and house my little, growing family?
I thought about the people I would call; people I knew who owned companies, and people who I knew that knew other people. But before all of that, while my boss was still sitting across his desk from me, I thought to myself, “This is not going to happen to me again.”
I left the office in a daze. 12 years - and it was over.
I drove slowly home, working on my plan, trying to figure out what I was going to do next. Then, before getting onto the freeway, while waiting in the left turn lane for a red light, I remembered an article I had read just the day before. Just a little article about making soap. About some lady, in a town about an hour south of my house, who makes a batch a day.
Hmm, I thought. That could be fun.
Just then, the light turned green and I got on the freeway, to head home, to tell my wife I didn't have a job anymore.
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