White - 55, Underemployed and Faking Normal

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Simon & Schuster

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Copyright 2016, 2018 by Elizabeth White

An earlier version of this book was published as 55, Unemployed, and Faking Normal

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Simon & Schuster Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition January 2019

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Interior design by Paul Dippolito

Jacket design by Janet Perr

Jacket art by Kentarca Juan/Getty Images

All websites noted in this book were accurate when the book went to press.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN 978-1-5011-9680-5

ISBN 978-1-5011-9684-3 (ebook)

In loving memory of my dad, George B. White, Jr. and My mom, Dorothy K. White

I am standing in the line to buy groceries. A stranger approaches. I know you. I know you, he says, this man Ive never seen before. Arent you that woman whos... and his voice trails off. I can see hes searching for just the right word. Whos broke, I say, holding his gaze. His face lights up. Thats it, thats right, he says, heartily shaking my hand. I saw you on TV.

Being the poster child for broke baby boomers was not on my bucket list. Even now I still cringe when I listen to some of the interviews Ive done or think about what Ive revealed about myself. By nature I am a private person, reserved, not someone who would put all their business in the street.

I grew up in a two-parent household, one of three adored children. My father was a career officer in the army. We moved around a lot. I counted fourteen moves in twelve years, including to places like Libya, Italy, and Germany. I remember being in seventh grade on three continents. I got used to being the new kid in class.

Even as a little girl I knew there was a big difference between what I experienced at home and what I experienced in the world outside. In the early 1960s I was often the only little black girl in my elementary school class. I remember not understanding why no one ever picked me for the soccer or volleyball team even though I was a decent athlete. I was the default choice, picked last after the boy with the bulletproof glasses and the girl who smelled like she peed in the bed.

I remember at thirteen going to my first dance at the local teen club and neither the white boys nor the black boys asked me to dance. Back in those days beauty standards were strict. There were no Lupita Nyongos gracing the cover of fashion magazines. You were either paint-by-numbers pretty or you werent. You either fit or you didnt. And with my dark skin and rounded African features, I never did.

Eventually, I stopped trying and focused on achievement instead, receiving a BA from Oberlin College and an MA from the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies. I worked summers in Paris and the Gambia in West Africa. I was in my early to mid-twenties and life was full of promise and good things to come. Back then we boomers were still the youngest people in the room.

After spending so much time overseas, its no surprise that I ended up at the World Bank. I did not have to hide my ethnicity there. My natural hair and diamond nose post fit in easily among all the turbans, saris, and caftans. I was thirty at the time and earned enough money to buy the town house I still live in today some thirty-four years later.

After about five years at the World Bank, I jumped at the chance to take a sabbatical and go back to school. Many of my World Bank colleagues had PhDs. I didnt. I remember thinking an MBA was the next-best thing. I was thrilled when Harvard accepted me.

I caught the entrepreneurial bug at Harvard. I had never considered becoming one before then. Some entrepreneurs are born, but not me. Truth be told, my mom bought all my Girl Scout cookies! But at Harvard I listened to classmates, mostly men, talk about becoming captains of industry. I remember thinking, I am as smart as that guy over there. Why cant I create something?

And my retail business was born. Well, not right away. I stayed at the World Bank another few years, getting my ducks in a row. I then joined my mother, who was co-owner in the business.

Being a business owner and entrepreneur was a wild ride and humbling too. It was my first time selling widgets instead of services. I was used to working in environments where a great report could buy you months of goodwill. In retail, its what have you done for me lately. Big sales days didnt carry over. Each day was a new grind. Each day started at zero.

There was also a certain status to working for the World Bank. Suddenly, out on my own, I was chief cook and bottle washer, running some start-up no one had ever heard of. At the World Bank I just showed up and did the work. I didnt worry about payroll or keeping the lights on. But now my mother and I were creating a business from the ground up: the infrastructure and systems, vetting the suppliers (many from Africa), negotiating store leases, and hiring and training staff. It was a ton of workI mean a straight vertical liftbut also possibly the most fun Ive ever had on a job.

Besides, I wasnt alone. It would have been insane to launch a retail business with no experience. My mother and I had a great team of retail professionals helping us, some giants in their field, with twenty or more years of retail experience.

So it was devastating, eight years later, when the business failed. We had cash flow problems and struggled to keep some stores stocked. We were sourcing from dozens of small artisan suppliers and couldnt get the quantity of products we needed at the right price and quality. We raised money, but not enough. Its called skin in the game when you add your money to what your investors have put in. After eight years in I had emptied out my savings.

I was forty-seven and back out in the job market. I wasnt overly worried. I had my background, work history at some prestigious organizations, and degrees from Hopkins and Harvard. Youd think all that would count for something.