Through a Lens Brightly
Letting down my guard and starting over again (A liberation of sorts)
J ust over a year ago, I was seated at a common table in a conference room at work in a downtown Washington, DC, office building. I was surrounded, as we ate lunch by colleagues in their 20s and 30s with a couple of 40s thrown in.
My co-workers and I shared a lot of common interests. Most of us were in the communications department of our trade association — charged with wrangling with reporters; writing press releases, op-eds, and speeches; and mounting social media campaigns. Others came from government affairs.
Trying to Fit In
Apart from the commonalities, there were some significant differences, like the fact that I still typed two spaces after periods, a throwback to the era when I banged out my stories on an old Brother typewriter; or that I had to ask our social media director how best to track views of a video we had created as part of a Twitter ad campaign; and of course, I was old enough to be their father, or in some cases their grandfather.
We would typically chat over lunches that we picked up at the nearby food trucks lining the parks along K Street — largely pan-ethnic cuisine like Asian tacos, arepas, sushi burritos, or the newest reinvention of a Middle-Eastern salad bar that featured silky marinated tofu.
We’d joke about the latest movies, television shows, and music. Perhaps because I had a 17-year-old daughter, had a life-long love of sci-fi, fantasy and comic books, was politically connected, devoured the latest Netflix sensations, geeked out over #GOT, and was a “foodie” who knew all about the latest restaurant and bar openings, I could easily fit into the conversation.
Stories About “Way Back When”
I think at times they treated me like I was one of their own, although a bit eccentric and introverted. At other times, I am sure, I was the “old guy.”
This was especially true when I told tales about how it used to be at our organization under earlier CEOs; or even earlier when I was a Senate communications director and used the fax machine to send out press releases rather than email or Twitter — what my younger lunch mates called “way back when” while rolling their eyes at my ancient ways and laughing.
Who Remembers Faxing Out Press Releases?
That day, we were talking about celebrating a colleague’s birthday at a local bar after work, when a co-worker suggested we do lunch because an evening fest might be “too late for some of the older folks on the team.”
I stayed silent, smiling, but uneasy, actually feeling a bit ashamed that I was so old and was being treated differently from the rest of the team.
A few days later, my status at the trade association came to an end. Transition happens as they say — especially to those of us over 50 — and I was now going to be on my own. Despite the financial fears that came with the sudden change, I was very excited about seeking the next chapter in my life. I knew it was time for me to start over — and that’s just what I am doing.
Only it’s been more than a year since I last walked into that K Street office, a bit longer than I had expected it to take to begin the next chapter of my professional career.
First Steps After the Big Jump
My first step out the door was to set up a sole-practitioner consulting firm, Gantman Communications. The firm focuses on providing a public relations service for those individuals and organizations who cannot afford to hire the big public affairs agencies and features the added value of my extended background in government advocacy and strategic communications.
Of course, that involves marketing myself, creating my own brand. I had done that successfully for the elected officials I worked for, and for the trade association. But making myself and my skills the subject of my own public relations campaign was not something I came to naturally.
So at the same time, not sure that being a sole-practitioner was the right path for me, I applied to several public interest non-profits that had job openings. I did not want to work at another large corporate organization and smaller nonprofits seemed a lot more inviting.
Seeking an Encore Career
Plus the nonprofits fit much better into what current fashion calls “an encore career” where for the next decade of my life — likely the last working decade of my work life — I could contribute much more to the social good.
Initially, I went through lots of rounds of interviews: groups involved in fighting gun violence, supporting ethics in government, working for education reform, curbing climate change and the like; but for a variety of reasons, I was not the chosen candidate.
Seeking to better understand the conflicting feelings I had about my career, and indeed, my life changes, I also began scouring books, websites, blogs, social media and listening to podcasts from what I have discovered to be a burgeoning aging boomer community.
Each day, another 10,000 people in the U.S. turn 65
A few of these books have been especially helpful. These include John Tarnoff’s nicely titled “Boomer Reinvention,” Marci Albahor’s “Encore Career Handbook,” Chip Conley’s “Wisdom@Work; the Making of a Modern Elder,” and Marc Miller’s “Repurpose Your Career: A Practical Guide for Baby Boomers,” which all made immediate impressions.
Coffee Shop Networking
Over coffee (I’ve had lots of coffees!) — I met with another public relations professional who is in a similar stage of life. We spoke for a time about ways to make it as a communications consultant in Washington, DC.
Both of us had lengthy resumes, with some real highlights, including my own stint as staff director for the first Obama inauguration, but we shared a common struggle and our conversation turned to age. We agreed that while there may not be massive overt age discrimination in our industry, we knew many stories of seniors being replaced by junior staff at half the price.
Elizabeth White: “Being the poster child for broke baby boomers was not on my bucket list.”
The other side of the story of the job-search process involved not even getting callbacks for the openings in the first place, something well documented by Elizabeth White in her book 55, Unemployed and Faking Normal.
As White said at a jam-packed book signing at Politics and Prose Bookstore on Connecticut Avenue — “Being the poster child for broke baby boomers was not on my bucket list.“ The feeling was mutual for me — I was bound and determined to continue making a living. But, along with everything else, I needed to find a way to downsize and economize.
How Old Are You?
My coffee buddy asked how old I was. My first reaction was to avoid answering. That’s what I always did when co-workers or friends asked. I’d just say “old enough” and smile.
I think one reason I did this is that I look younger than I am (or at least I believe I do!) — something I inherited from my father, who even at the end of his life still seemed in his 50s.
While I had already coped with open-heart surgery to replace my aortic valve some 17 years earlier, and have encountered the usual array of other “aging” problems (hello prostate!), most people have assumed I also was somewhere in my late 50s, 60 years old at the max.
Perhaps it’s also that with a daughter still in high school, I fit more closely into that younger age range. A soccer dad! Not yet a grandpa!
My review of the advice for aging boomers found a real split between those recommending hiding all age references, and others who suggested being upfront when asked. I had enough experience hiding it, so this time I decided to be direct.
“I am 67,” I said.
He was almost a decade younger and gave me one of those looks. “You hardly look it,” he said. “I know,” I replied. “People are usually surprised when I tell them, so I avoid answering.” Then I laughed, “maybe they actually think I am in my 70s and are just being kind!”
I went to a potluck dinner with my family a few days later where many of the guests were a decade or two younger than me. I was asked how my job search was going. I decided to be up front again, sharing that for me, it was not just a routine job hunt.
“I am looking at this like a home stretch, a culmination of what my life has been — and something with real meaning for society. I am 67 and I am not likely to get many more do-overs! I want to make a difference in society.”
My comments triggered a few double-takes, and even a brief “wow.” I think they knew I was “older” but had not been sure of how much older. Now they knew — and to my relief, I could share my thoughts and questions much more freely.
This was all strangely liberating — like I was coming out of the closet.
“Yes!” I felt like shouting to the world. “I am 67, almost 68!” Afraid that nobody would hire me if they realized my true age, I had kept it quiet.
Sure, thanks to social media postings and Google searches, a prospective employer could figure it out, especially if they found this one from my time at Kenyon College between 1969–1973 and figured out it was 46 years since I graduated.
In the past, I saw no need to be direct about how old I was — and actively avoided answering. Now, I realized there was freedom in being honest. I still had no idea if anybody would hire someone nearing 70, but I did feel better about myself.
Changing It Up: Embracing Aging
The following week, I went to a workshop dubbed “Changing It Up: Raising Awareness of Our Aging Society” that was focused on the need to present a new image for aging that recognizes the changing dynamics of our society, with some 120 million people over 50 in the United States.
The meetup was sponsored by STRIA, Next For Me and Silvernest — three new startups focused on what’s now been dubbed “the growing longevity marketplace.”
The gathering was in a lounge area of a co-working space at the new Wharf in DC. I met others grappling with their own continued dreams of making a difference, of living with a purpose, yet realizing the time left to do so were becoming limited.
With all these people, when asked, I was straight forward. “I am 67.” No longer ashamed of being “old.” In fact, realizing the value of what my age has produced. No longer hiding it.
“It’s me.”
“I am here.”
“Reinventing myself once again.”
“No longer the Vice President of Global Strategic Communications for a K Street lobbying organization, but onto the next stage of my life.”
The Future: Aging is Living, Living is Aging
What comes next? I don’t know for sure. But I decided to blog and put my experiences into words. Not just the search for work, because I really do think that my next professional opportunity is going to come soon. But the overall process — of coming out and being comfortable as an “older person,” rather than trying to hide it.
This will be a real road of discovery for me, and I hope reading my story helps others who face similar issues or even those who will one day wake up and discover they are 67 years old and wonder what’s next in life.
Final notes: In the weeks after I wrote the first draft of this blog, but before I solved the logistics for publishing it, I discovered the works of Ashton Applewhite, one of a growing number of people speaking out against ageism.
I first viewed Applewhite’s TED Talk, then consumed much of her writings. Finally, I had the opportunity to do a review of her new book: This Chair Rocks: A Manifesto Against Ageism” in which she proclaims: “I’ve never lied about my age — I have no problem saying ‘I’m sixty-six’ loud and clear.”
Applewhite’s words hit home, and I vowed to continue on, without holding back. A copy of my review is posted here on Marc Miller’s Career Pivot website.
Also, of note, I turned 68 a few weeks ago. My wife gave me a bottle of my favorite Scotch; my daughter wrote me a wonderful love-filled birthday letter, showing me she is already a much better writer than I will ever be; my Facebook friends showered me with birthday greetings; and I walked my dog, Usnavi, to a nearby coffee shop near Eastern Market where we sat on the patio as I worked on this blog post and Usnavi watched the passers-by. During my old job, I barely had time for him. Now, he’s becoming a true friend and writing companion.
