If life's a story, this part is a cautionary tale.

At least, that’s what it felt like standing in that little gray office while my boss suddenly couldn’t even look me in the eye after interviewing me for a promotion.

“We’ve chosen our new person…and it wasn’t you.”

He'd just told me I'd been the first person that came to mind when the position opened.

I stood there, willing my face to stay neutral while inside, I was a full-blown dumpster fire. Shocked and humiliated, feeling that disappointment that curdles in your stomach until it makes you sick.

At the time, it felt like the ultimate career rejection that leaves you questioning your value, your future...everything.

Because I had had hope. Stupid, wistful hope that maybe, finally, the years of taking on extra duties while simultaneously finishing my Bachelor's were about to pay off.

Nope.

"We’ve decided to go in another direction," he continued, "but you should hold your head high; you interviewed great…it’s just blah b blah b blah."

Just spraying placating bullshit like Febreze on a fresh turd.

For me, it was a firm shove back into that damn back-corner cubicle with bad lighting, zero personality, and a reminder of exactly where they thought I belonged.

It felt personal.

After that, I stayed home for the rest of the week, licking my wounds in a stunning display of emotional maturity.

But my self-esteem was in tatters. I replayed everything in my head, trying to figure out what I’d done wrong.

Why hadn't all my nose-to-the-grindstone efforts earned me a seat at the big kids' table?

It took a few days, but it finally hit me: I was grieving a job that, deep down, I didn't even want.

And if I stayed, I would've spent the rest of my life trying to earn the approval of people who couldn't even be honest with me.

Of course, in the real world, you can't just rage-quit and peel out of the parking lot blasting “We're Not Gonna Take It.” I still had bills to pay and a credible reputation to consider.

Plus, my husband wouldn't let me, so there was that.

So I kept my head down, kept on working, and promised myself that this wasn't forever; it was just right now.

Which was hard when I had well-meaning work friends coming to cluck about how absolutely unfair it was that I hadn't gotten the job.

Working in finance meant everybody knew everybody's business. Or maybe it was working with other women, who knows.

Either way, I just wanted to forget the whole damn thing ever happened at the time.

And wouldn’t you know it? Just a few weeks later, my husband got a job offer out of state - my chance at a clean break.

It was terrifying and exactly what I needed.

And when the time finally came, I handed my resignation to that same boss, said goodbye to my workplace of nearly 15 years, and headed to Wisconsin.

After that, I immediately dusted off the 'ol resume and went after jobs that looked good on paper and justified my hard-won degree.

I received several job offers and accepted different roles. But every time I “succeeded,” it felt like a step backward.

That's what happens when you chase what you think you should instead of what you're actually meant for.

Eventually, there was only one thing left - the thing I’d already been doing for years: writing.

I’d been ghostwriting, creating professional documents, and coaching people on how to tell their own stories without selling themselves short or sounding like complete psychopaths.

I became certified and helped new graduates, business executives, veterans, tech professionals, and entertainment industry workers.

Writing became the cornerstone of the life I envisioned, and more than I thought I deserved when I was sitting in that awful gray cubicle.

Is it easy? Hell no, it’s work, real work. But it’s worth it.

For now, I'm right where I'm supposed to be. But I didn't get to this point on my own. The Balkan Storm keeps things afloat while I pursue my dream.

Someday I plan to return the favor.

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