what I told myself…but it just wasn’t true.
The truth, which I was terrified to admit to myself, is that I was gradually beginning to realize that I didn’t want a nine-to-five job. I didn’t want to work in cubicle, then a small office, then a bigger office with a window facing the parking lot. I didn’t want to climb up the ladder for the next forty years and then retire. I didn’t want that life. However, I didn’t know what else I’d rather be doing. I didn’t have a clear “exit strategy” for what I could with my career if I left my current job. I had…zero ideas. So I stayed put.
Then the Great Recession kicked in. The economy buckled. Society panicked. Everyone whispered about “funding cuts” and other scary possibilities. Suddenly, tons of my co-workers started getting laid off. People with kids, aging parents, and mortgages, losing jobs they’d had for ten or twenty years. It was terrifying.
But I had a secret, shameful fantasy that I couldn’t admit to anybody…
I hoped they’d pick me next.
I know it sounds insane, but for me, at that point in my life, getting laid off sounded like…freedom. A fresh start. A second chance. A way to reboot my career and do something different. Something that really excited me.
Of course, I felt incredibly guilty for thinking those kinds of thoughts. My colleagues are getting laid off, left and right. Their lives are being ruined, and here I am, wishing for that! That’s seriously messed up. Besides, I’d worked hard to get the job I currently had. I ought to be grateful. That’s what I convinced myself to believe. I kept my head down, suppressed my feelings, and just chugged along.
Then one day, a guy named Jeff pulled me aside for a chat. Just like my boss, Jeff was an influential person at the company—a department leader, a former theater geek and actor, charismatic, funny, and beloved. Everyone sensed that Jeff was being groomed to replace the current CEO once he retired.
“Alex, we’re creating a new position in my department,” Jeff told me, with a warm smile. “I think you’d be a good fit. If you’re interested, I encourage you to apply.”
I’d always liked Jeff. And I definitely liked the sound of doing something new. He told me a little more about the new position—the responsibilities, the salary (almost double what I was currently earning), and so on. He urged me to throw my hat into the ring. So I applied.
Fairly quickly, Jeff called me in for a job interview. We had a great chat, and I felt good about my chances.
“If I get this new job in a different department…” I thought to myself, “…maybe I’ll be so much happier.”
A few weeks after that, Jeff invited me out for coffee. We walked to Caribou Coffee—which is like a Midwestern version of Starbucks with a prancing moose-like creature in the logo instead of a mermaid. We sat in the food court underneath the harsh fluorescent lights. He smiled kindly. He thanked me, again, for applying for the new position. He explained that they’d had so many qualified applicants, and that it had been a tough choice.
And then he told me, “You’re not getting the job.”
“Oh, that’s no problem, thanks for letting me know…” is how I should have responded.
Bursting into tears is how I actually responded.
I was mortified. It was like all my emotions came bubbling up to the surface, all at once—my frustration about my career, my uncertainty about the future, my lack of purpose, and my aching desire to figure out what the hell I was supposed to be doing with my life—they were all spilling over the edge, and I literally couldn’t stop myself from tearing up. I dabbed at my eyes with a Caribou Coffee napkin and willed myself to stop, stop, stop. “Oh my god, this is so unprofessional,” I thought to myself. “Just stop.” But I couldn’t.
Jeff was probably surprised by this reaction, but because he’s a very classy guy, he barely let it show. Instead, he quietly asked,
“What’s making you cry right now, Alex?”
I considered lying to Jeff and saying something like, “Oh gosh, it’s just been a crazy week, please ignore all of this, please forgive me, let’s just head back to the office.”
Instead, I decided to tell Jeff the truth.
I told him that I was very unhappy at work. I told him that I’d applied for this new job, hoping that a more impressive job title—and a bigger paycheck—would make things feel better and reignite my passion somehow. Even though, in my heart, I knew it probably wouldn’t. This was the first time I’d expressed these feelings to anyone, and it felt like such a massive relief to just…say it.
Jeff listened calmly, nodding, and then asked, “OK. Well, then, what’s next for you?”
Instinctively, I blurted out, “I need to leave this company and do…some other type of work. I don’t know what that will be, but I need to take a chance and try to figure it out.”
He nodded again, and offered to help me figure out my next steps however he could. (Did I mention that Jeff is an amazing guy? He really is.)
One week later, I met with my boss and told him I’d be leaving the company. Instead of the usual “two weeks’ notice,” I asked for a longer transition period—a couple of months, ideally—so that I could gradually phase myself out of the department, train my replacement, and have enough time to figure out my next career move. He agreed to those terms. Just like that, it was official. I was leaving. It was happening.
Four months later, I attended a farewell party that my boss and coworkers threw for me. I hugged everyone goodbye, crumpled up the band posters decorating my cubicle, wiped off my keyboard, and walked out of that building for the last time.
Even after four months of ruminating, I still felt pretty unclear about where my career was heading next. I knew it would have something to do with “writing and words and stuff,” but what exactly, I didn’t know. I was taking a leap of faith—leaving my relatively safe job behind, putting myself out there as a freelance writer-ish-type of person, and hoping that things would work out OK.
In the eight years that followed—after walking away from that broadcasting job—I fought for, hustled for, created, and sometimes serendipitously received writing opportunities that I never could have even dreamed about. I collaborated with over two hundred clients on (literally) thousands of articles, websites, educational programs, books, and other materials that I got to help envision, write, edit, or produce in some capacity. I got a publishing deal. Then another. I also self-published two novels—one of which was recently optioned to be turned into a screenplay. I got my work featured on websites like Forbes, HuffPost, Newsweek, Time, Lifehacker, BuzzFeed, and other exciting places. I figured out how to make a living using my own brain, ten fingers, and a laptop. Even today, all of this is semi-unbelievable to me. But it happened. It’s still happening.
Today, I’ve got my dream career as a full-time, self-employed writer, and the entire journey started…all because Jeff didn’t offer me that fancy job in his department.
When Jeff told me, “Sorry, the position has gone to somebody else,” that tear-soaked, heartfelt, painfully honest conversation was the catalyst that sparked everything.
It’s bizarre when I think about how differently things could have gone. If Jeff had offered me the job, I probably would’ve accepted it. I might’ve
