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and attached it to the tripod. I automatically started running my fingers through my hair. The brochure could have at least warned us that we were supposed to be camera ready.
    The coach shut his eyes and let out three quick puffs of air. He opened his eyes again, tilted his chin up, and threw his shoulders back. “Welcome,” he said. “Welcome to all of you, and make that welcome back if you’ve been here before. My name is Brock, and I’ll be your Fresh Horizons certified small-group career coach for the next ninety minutes.”
    Nobody said anything.
    “Okay,” Brock said. “Our job here today is to get to know one another, and ourselves, a little better.”
    One guy groaned, and most of the rest of us slouched down in our chairs.
    Brock adjusted the camera and pushed a button. “Okay,” he said, “let’s start with you.” He nodded at me.
    “Me?” I said. “You know, I think I’d prefer just to watch.”
    “My second wife was like that,” one of the cute, messy guys said.
    Brock crossed his arms over his chest. He looked about twelve. I wondered if his tie really tied or if it was a clip-on. “Look right at the camera,” he said, “and pretend it’s not even there.”
    I looked at the door and tried to calculate my chances for escape.
    “Just be yourself,” Brock said.
    I froze. I hated that expression. I mean, if I even remotely knew who I was, would I be here?
    Brock cleared his throat. “You can start by telling us your name, and a little bit about yourself.”
    “Oh, boy,” I said. “Okay, my name is Noreen.” I shook my head. “Nora Kelly.”
    Everybody was looking at me. I felt like an idiot. I cleared my throat. “Okay,” I said. “I just took a buyout. For the last eighteen years I’ve been employed by Balancing Act Shoes, most recently as Senior Manager of Brand Identity, a position I’d held since May of—”
    “Okay, fine,” Brock said. “Tell us about you.”
    “I reported to—”
    Brock put up one hand. “No, tell us about you.”
    “I was responsible for—”
    “No, no, no.” Brock clapped his hands once for each word, which made him look like a toddler having a tantrum. “You’re regurgitating your résumé. Tell us about you . Who you are. What you hate. What you love. What you’re good at. What you hope you never have to do again for the rest of your life. Tell us the story of Noreen Nora Kelly.”
    “I’m really sorry,” I said. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to get back to you on that.”
    Brock nodded. “Okay, think about it. Who wants to go next?”
    Some of the others were almost as bad as I was, but a few people really got into it. One woman just wouldn’t shut up about all the things she was never, ever going to do again, everything from going to meetings to wearing mascara to singing “Happy Birthday” to people she didn’t even like. It was actually nice to be around people, and the ninety minutes flew by.
    Brock left us with a final nugget. “And, remember,” he said, “when you’re in transition, structure is key. Put yourself on a schedule and adhere to it. Without a routine, it’s a slippery slope. Too much freedom and before you know it you’ve lost control of your day and turned into a slug. So when that structure isn’t imposed from without, you have to take the time to build it carefully and irrevocably into your day…the Fresh Horizons way.”
    “I thought he was going to start tap-dancing and break into a song at the end there,” I said to the woman with the messy hair as we walked out together. “But I have to admit that baby coach wasn’t half bad.”
    A guy stepped up to my other side. Every time he swung his arm, he flashed a little bit of skin through a hole in the armpit of his T-shirt. It was kind of sexy in a lowbrow way. “Yeah,” he said. “That slug image was magic. Almost enough to make me find myself by next week.” He half-turned and raised his voice. “So, what is it this week, kids, Wii