Paying the “middle price”

In the beginning of my career, I lost my “dream job”, but in so doing, saved my soul.

I was not “fired”. By mutual agreement, the organization did not renew my contract at the end of the term.

I was 30-years-old with a wife, two children, and another on the way.

Initially, I was proud to be a part of the company. We did good work and helped many people. With each day, I gained more confidence in my abilities, and over time, I was rewarded with more pay, prestige, and responsibilities.

However, underneath the shiny veneer, malfeasance had put down roots that were starting to spread. This caused much division, and the workplace became toxic. Employees spied on each other. Offices and phones were bugged.

There were also harassing late night phone calls. One time my home phone rang when I was out of town. When my wife picked up, the caller asked where I was (they probably already knew).

When she asked, “Who’s calling?”, the caller delivered a clumsy but vulgar message suggesting that I should be raped.

I was advised by allies to protect myself by documenting what I was witnessing in case I needed it for leverage later. This proved to be wise counsel.

The powers that be learned where I stood and that I would not be a party to cover-ups. I received a message that the organization was planning to terminate me without cause.

I sent back word that if they attempted to fire me, I would talk to anyone and everyone who would listen, including clients, media, as well as state and federal governments.

A short time later, I was sitting at my desk when the head of the organization appeared in my office and sat down in a heap across from me. He had a pained expression on his face and was sweating. He seemed in a hurry, like a man on the run.

With no introduction or small talk, he sighed and asked, “What do you want?”

I had been mentally rehearsing for the moment and replied, “Six months.” That was the amount of time I figured I would need to obtain another position and get the hell out of there.

“Granted,” he said. He then stood up, turned, and left. We never spoke again.

I sat stunned, amazed at the raw potency of truth. At that moment, I had never felt more powerful or free.

After I had a new job and had moved to another city, the battle became more intense, and in marched the lawyers representing the warring factions.

I received a message through an ally that attorneys on both sides would like to talk with me. They viewed me as a “wild card” whose thoughts and intentions needed to be accounted for.

But since these were civil proceedings, they couldn’t serve a subpoena across state lines but instead would have to take the time and expense to issue one using the courts in my new location.

I had instructed the workers who answered our phones at my new workplace to only take messages and not to put through any calls directly to my office. One day, someone forgot, and I found myself on the phone with one of the lawyers.

After introducing himself, he asked me if I was planning to testify against his client.

I told him “No, and as far as I’m concerned, you can all go straight to hell.”

“Thank you for your time,” he said without missing a beat, “that’s all I needed to know.” He hung up, and no one from that first job ever bothered me again.

In time, the company, drained and dispirited from all the conflict, declared bankruptcy. A friend asked me if I had heard and, if so, what my reaction had been.

Yes, and “No tears were spilled in our house.”

I know. All this sounds as if I’ve lost my mind and I’ve gone off spouting some old man’s strange fiction. But there are a handful of you who know with certainty I’m telling the truth.

As disruptive as that period in my life was, it steeled me for the course ahead. I always aimed to carry out my work duties with gentleness and good cheer, but I knew how to get political, when to speak up, and when to go stone silent. I was a little jumpy, like someone with PTSD, but my hard-earned street smarts served me well. If I had no choice, I get could down and dirty and fight back if someone tried to sneak up on my six and stab me in the back.

And that happened several times over the years—but I never lost. Not. One. Single. Time.

I had an “old hand” warn me not long after I started that job, “Be careful, you’re swimming with the sharks now!”

I smiled—if he only knew. I was actually swimming with guppies.

This is a season of profound testing, of deciding if truth tellers or liars will win the battle for our nation’s soul. Many are sacrificing jobs and careers in service to their values and authenticity.

I have never written about what happened to me back then until now. But after all these years I feel this is the moment to serve as a witness to the power and liberation of truth. I want others to know it is possible to survive, even thrive, in the wake of such sacrifices.

And even if you don’t, you’ll stand righteous before your Maker.

Someone said recently, “I just can’t emphasize enough to be braver than you think you can. In order to stand up, the only thing you lose right now is your job. Probably your nice house. But this is the least price you have to play, because if you don’t pay the middle price now, you’re gonna pay a huge price. People go to jail, people disappear, people die for the right to speak—now you only need to lose your job.”

In the beginning of my career, I came to a crossroads where I was forced to calculate the cost of looking myself in the mirror and sleeping soundly at night.

I chose the “middle price”, and that made all the difference.