I was raised in the 70s by a mother** who changed her name to Miranda for
awhile and engaged regularly in free self-expression and morning
drinking. The upside of all this freedom from convention was that while
some of my suburban friends were busy driving around in BMWs and trying out for
cheer camp, I was encouraged to contemplate poverty and my role in applying my
"gifts" to ameliorate these and other societal ills.
All of this good will culminated in a final chapter that I never could have
predicted. I came to this last job with the usual jumble of hubris, hope, and
naivet?. It was my first executive director gig and while the struggling
nonprofit had a spotty financial history, I was determined to turn things
around. For awhile my efforts seemed to work. Some of the people
who couldn’t spell and were rude on the phone moved on to other opportunities,
while smarties skilled with people and Excel took their place.
Times were good and the work we were doing helping primarily low-income moms
transition to parenting seemed worthwhile and effective. We moved to be
closer to my work and my husband found a fabulous job with a small company 10
minutes from mine.
What happened next seems so surreal even now, that I’m still reeling.
After the nonprofit’s financials took a dive due to some state budget
cuts and after some staff people decided they weren’t after all amused by
having an executive director keen on change, I was effectively asked to resign.
Many tears and confused phone calls later, I was delivered my personal
effects to my home and I’m now without a job in this new town of ours.
I don’t know if any of you have ever effectively been fired, but it does get
one right in the gut. One is left with this sinking feeling that all those
good grades and kudos from the past might have been wrong after all.
Making sense of betrayal and one’s place in the order of things is not one
of my strong points. I can be a smart-ass, make jokes, and be silly with
the best of them. But faced with something as unfunny as this, I’m left with
only a pea shooter and one bean against an entire army of self-doubt. Until then, thanks to Andie for this comic interlude:
**Baby Miranda is in the CrankMama sig picture at the top of the blog.