“Hey, Cory. Are you free to chat at 11? I just sent a meeting invite.”
I look at the Slack message. Then the time.
It’s 10:50.
“For sure. But I haven’t received the invite yet?”
“Should be coming through now.”
I refresh my email and see the message. I open it and click accept.
Then I see the guest list: the CEO, the owner, and me.
Stomach drops.
Scrotum tightens.
I take an uncertain, shallow breath and join the meeting. The CEO joins at the same time. A forced smile on their face.
“Hi, Cory. Thanks for taking the time on short notice.”
“Sure. But should I be concerned?”
No use beating around the bush.
A slight pause.
“Well, uh, in full transparency, yes. Yes, you should.”
No beating around the bush, indeed.
By now the owner has joined the meeting. I’m told my position is being terminated. I’m told it’s not because of poor performance and it’s not personal.
It’s just the cost of business in 2026.
“It’s fine. You’re fine. Just act normal.”
(Under) prepared for the worst
Talk about a complete surprise that’s not surprising at all.
My profession is under attack by AI and unrealistic expectations. The creative industry is in upheaval. And we’re in a ‘technical’ recession, apparently. (How that differs from a regular recession, I cannot say.)
Basically, it was only a matter of time.
Still, nothing prepares you for when it hits home. You expect to hear the stories. You don’t expect to become one of the statistics.
Until you are one.
But a stat is meaningless. Inconsequential. Losing your job, your security, and your ability to pay your way is not.
“It’s fine. You’re fine. Just act normal.”
Forced by the fates of change
‘That’s life.’
Like most clichés, that one is as unhelpful and apathetic as they come. Getting laid off in your 40s is a complete shitshow.
The panic that paralyzes action. The anger that clouds your judgment. The hopelessness that can break you.
All that self-doubt and anxiety. All that second guessing of every life decision.
Of course, that perspective is about as useful as a soup fork. So I’m trying to adopt a better POV (one to prevent a catastrophic meltdown).
Maybe it’s time for a change, maybe change was overdue.
Maybe this is the universe sending me a giant un-fucking-ignorable sign: CHANGE IS HERE.
“It’s fine. You’re fine. Just act normal.”
Life begins at 40
Admittedly, I’ve had the itch to freelance again. (Not that it’s a particularly good time to be a freelance copywriter.)
I like the idea of working with brands more my style, having more control over the work I do and the work I don’t do. I like the idea of doing the work my way, with more agency over my destiny.
What I don’t like is how uncertain the future feels.
Psychologist Carl Jung said, “Life really begins at 40. Until then, you’re just doing research.”
Okay, but did it have to go so hard?
Seriously, shortly after my fortieth birthday, my dad had two strokes. He’s in the hospital still, fighting for his mind while he waits for long-term care.
I’ve taken responsibility as his Power of Attorney. I’ve taken on the weight that comes with it, including guilt, grief, fear, frustration, and feeling completely helpless.
And I’ve struggled to carry the load.
Then, 14 months later, I lost my job.
Talk about life really beginning—beginning to act like a fucking psycho.
“It’s fine. You’re fine. Just act normal.”
A not-so-fresh start
Look, I’m not asking for a pity party. I’m thankful for what I had while I had it. And, unfortunately, shit happens.
That said, when it comes to a new beginning, I’d rather ease into it than be kicked in the dick by it.
Still, that’s exactly what this is: a new beginning.
Exactly what I need if I’m honest with myself.
I’ve become too complacent, too comfortable. So comfortable I’m nearly stagnant (guess that dick kick was necessary after all).
The question is, what comes next?
“It’s fine. You’re fine. Just act normal.”
The Davis Daily 