If you are new, the Start Here page is the best place to get oriented. It explains the Trail Markers and the larger journey behind this work.
The Checklist I Swore I’d Never Write
In Page 2 (ironically titled “Not a Checklist”), I said one might be coming. I hate checklists. They’re my wife’s thing. I prefer to wing it—just ask her, or my former teammates.
That said, I know some people need them. And even I, bane of the checklist crowd, occasionally need trail markers to keep me somewhere near the intended target. This was one of those times. Too much going on. Too many ways to get distracted or depressed.
After a major change—career, identity, emotional upheaval—there’s a moment where everything feels like static. Not the comforting white noise kind. More like the old 1 a.m., fell-asleep-on-the-couch, forgot-to-turn-off-the-TV-after-the-Star-Spangled-Banner kind of static. You’re not who you were, but you’re not yet who you’re becoming.
This list isn’t a prescription. It’s a set of trail markers. Use what fits. Burn the rest.
The Core Five
Inventory the impact
What changed? What broke? What’s better? What’s still bleeding?
I covered this in the last post, but it’s often the step that gets skipped—not out of laziness, but survival instinct. We want to put our heads down and plow forward. But people change. What fit years ago might not anymore. You might be drifting on momentum and fumes. Now’s the time to gut-check that.
Don’t do “The Full Monty”
Remember that movie from the late ’90s? Tom Wilkinson’s character, Gerald, loses his job and doesn’t tell his wife. He gets up, gets dressed, and pretends to go to work. Don’t be Gerald. Tell your spouse or significant other. Don’t let them find out via mood swings, bounced checks, or—like Gerald’s wife almost did—a flyer for the local amateur male revue. While my wife knew about the layoff from the start, I wasn’t as forthcoming about how difficult the transition was for me, nor how hard the continued unemployment, then new role would hit financially. She was great, it was a relief when I finally let her all the way in.
Find a therapist—or schedule one ASAP
Even if you think you’re fine. Especially if you think you’re fine.
I’m a major advocate for mental health. I serve on the board of a nonprofit that helps adults with serious mental illness stay in the workforce and secure housing and food. Everyone needs support. In times like these, it’s almost impossible to do it alone.
Review your budget
You’re not who you were. Your money shouldn’t be either.
This should be done periodically anyway, but it’s crucial when your job is at risk—or already gone. The quicker and deeper you cut, the longer your nest egg lasts and the lower the pressure. You’ll put enough pressure on yourself to form diamonds. Reduce it wherever possible.
Pull out and work on your resume
Not because you’re leaving. Because you’re evolving.
I’ve been in HR for 30 years and recruiting for 20, and I still forget to update my resume. It’s like the cobbler’s kids having no shoes. Keep it fresh—it’s easier to add accomplishments in real time than to reconstruct them later. Resume styles change. If yours is moldy, dust it off.
Professional services can help, but they’re expensive—and we just talked about shrinking your financial footprint. AI tools are getting better. Between you, a good AI resource, and a few trusted friends or mentors, you can build something great. I’m happy to help.
The Expanded Trail Markers
Revisit your purpose statement
Does it still fit? Does it still move you? Rewrite it if needed—no one’s grading you.
Don’t have one? I didn’t either. Until last week, when I attended a pilot training and met Dr. David Banks. He introduced us to his Purpose Fingerprint—a process to discover and create your personal purpose statement. Why are you here? What do you do? It’s enlightening. Highly recommend.
Audit your calendar
What are you still saying yes to out of habit, guilt, or inertia?
Some obligations made sense when you were working. Now they don’t. Cut them.
Others—like lunches, coffees, networking—might need to increase. You’ve got new priorities. Guard your time. Also, plan personal time to refill your cup. You need peace, pleasure, and connection now more than ever.
Check your tools and platforms
Are they still serving you—or are you serving them?
This overlaps with budgeting, but with a different lens. Can you pause professional memberships? Cancel tools? Downgrade software tiers? Use the free version of Adobe or MS 365? Trim the excess.
Do a digital hygiene sweep
Clean your inbox. Archive the old. Unsubscribe from noise.
Your digital world should reflect who you’re becoming—not who you were.
LinkedIn was a lifeline—and a landmine. I needed it to network, but seeing former colleagues thrive while I was reeling triggered serious FOMO. I was happy for them, but it was emotionally destabilizing.
Also, don’t rush to apply for jobs at this stage. It might feel good, but it’s a sugar high. Take a short period—maybe a week or two—for reflection and healing before jumping back in.
Move your body
Walk, lift, stretch, sweat. Change lives in the body first.
I think a lot while I work out. It’s a great time to zone out and work through problems. The endorphins help. Even if it’s not your thing, the physical and mental benefits make it a must-do.
Name the emotion
Not the story. Not the spin. Just the raw, unfiltered feeling.
Like the inventory, naming what’s happening has power. Say it out loud. Journal it. Tell your therapist. Identifying it is enough. It helps you move through it and recover.
Final Note
This isn’t a checklist. It’s a reckoning. A ritual. A reminder that transition isn’t just about what’s next—it’s about what’s gone or will be soon. You don’t have to do all of it. But you probably need to do some of it. Especially the parts you’re resisting. Those are usually the ones I end up needing the most.