Musings on...RomComs, Resumes and Regrets?
Breaking Up with the Perfect Guy and/or Job
Welcome to a new episode of Adventures in Workland! This essay series was inspired by a frustrating attempt to condense decades of work experience to a one-page resume. I realized resumes are flat and lifeless representations of the vivid stories, relationships and lessons that make one a valuable part of the workforce. In this series, I will illuminate the staid bullet points and job descriptions, animating them into the full dimensional glory they deserve. I hope my stories will make you reflect and honor the value of your employment history as well. Algorithms, bots and job board filters have it wrong: You are more than the sum of your job descriptions.
Many years ago, I broke up with a perfectly nice guy. It was junior high, and he was the sweetest, smartest and most perfect teen boy you can imagine. Think Patrick Dempsey in Can’t Buy Me Love. It’s corny, but we met in the summer session of driver’s education, bonding in slow-moving Chevy Novas in a school parking lot. It was frothy young love of the New Edition variety, sweet and buttery popcorn love. But one day, I just broke up with him and moved on. I remember him fondly and often wonder what in the world was happening in my Sweet Valley High head. Was it a Kim and Chris, 70-day “I don’t like who I am with him” or was it the unspoken JLo and Chris Judd “he’s too nice, and not challenging enough”? His name wasn’t Chris, but I treated him like it was. The phrase “it’s not you, it’s me” was not common in the vernacular, but this relationship was manifesting it. I'm here to tell you the work place version of this scenario is just as perplexing as the romantic one.
Post pandemic, the employer that furloughed me still wasn’t allowed to open, so I went on the job hunt. It seemed as random as an Ephron or Meyers script-one day I was pondering my next move and the very next-I Got Mail. I received a LinkedIn alert from a friend, a recruiter, looking for sales professionals for a new client. I’ve known her since college and I have NEVER, EVER received an alert regarding her recruiting. It seemed so coincidental, it must be serendipity, I thought. I contacted her for information about the position.
Resume sent, screening interview complete and I’m scheduled an interview with the client. It was my first Zoom interview, so I employed my best Meg Ryan charm from the waist up. We had great rapport. I sell my skills and experience, the position sounds interesting, I like her energy, she likes my energy. Yes, quirky hipster barista, another cappuccino-I don’t want this dream date to end. In this resume romcom, our meet-cute was epic. Our chemistry was electric and within 96 hours of the recruiter’s email, I signed the offer letter.
I began training a few weeks later. I walked in like Elle Woods onto Harvard yard, full of confidence and hope. Pan to pictures of conference rooms, slide shows, laser pointers and hands raised for questions fueled by a peppy soundtrack in the requisite montage that moves the story forward in time. I enjoyed the job, I did well right out the gate, I received good feedback from my team leaders. I hit the first quota and gained volume with each pay cycle. The paychecks were nice and hefty. And then…
Something shifted. I had never worked in a call center and the redundancy began to drain me. I was not accustomed to sitting in a gray cube, witnessing the morning sun transition to the golden hour and then dusky night. I didn’t like being chained to a desk and a headset. It reminded me of the scene in Titanic when Rose watches her surroundings in slow motion, knowing exactly how her life would play out. The bright and perky soundtrack became sullen and low register, the background dissolved into a murky gray. I wanted to jump off the ship with her.
I tried everything. I decorated my cubicle, I posted photos of my family as “my why”. I watched every motivational YouTube video management sent. I took walks around the building for fresh air and drank raspberry tea for energy. The problem wasn’t the job-it was me. Everything about the company was fantastic. It had the best corporate culture. The environment was cheerful and motivating. My team leaders were funny and encouraging and celebratory. We had fun team meetings, special group lunches and complimentary company outings for team building. I enjoyed my co-workers, posting silly memes and gifs in our chat between hold times. The money was good, the benefits were great. Why couldn’t I love this perfect job? How did this become my Caledon Hockley? I should be able to make this work, right? It was a fine match that could ensure my survival. Just put on the oversized diamond and live, I told myself.
I am always asking myself, what am I supposed to learn from this experience? Unlike the teenage me, I took a look inside to understand what was happening. I went after the job, I got the job, I thought I liked it, but what changed? What was wrong with me? As I studied my quandary, I began to see myself and my work history more clearly.
The initial honeymoon period was because I enjoyed the process of learning something new and conquering it. Once I understood the formula for success, I became bored. In previous jobs, I was always on a learning curve, chasing a target. In the real estate and mortgage industry, the market and lending guidelines constantly changed, so the goal posts were always moving. Expertise came from being nimble, not static. The same was true in the pharmaceutical sales. Scientific information is always expanding, so medical journals, sales meetings and conversations with doctors keep one engaged. Even in the hospitality industry, food and wine knowledge increases your sales, so being informed about food ingredients and cooking techniques keeps you on the bubble. The world of wine alone can be a lifelong education. I don’t think I realized how important this facet was to my job satisfaction until I didn’t have it anymore.
Next it became evident the sedentary life is not for me. As a loan officer and sales manager, I worked at a desk in an office, but I didn’t have the experience of robotic redundancy. Then every day was different, every deal was a new challenge. Days were dynamic and diverse. Now every phone call was scripted, every interaction essentially the same. In hospitality and restaurant work, you are always moving, never idle. Sitting and speaking into the air was not my cup of tea.
I thought I would enjoy the change of the short sales cycle of a phone call, but I was wrong. I remembered an employment personality test from years ago revealing I had a high advocacy rating. In this industry, there wasn’t time to offer help or build a relationship. If they couldn’t fit into one of 3 programs, our time was up, but I tried to help anyway. If anyone allowed an opening, I would inform them about credit programs and legislation to investigate that might help them beyond my portfolio. I couldn’t help myself even though I knew my calls were randomly monitored. How could I remain silent if I have knowledge that might help someone even if they didn’t register as a sale for me?
Soon I was clashing with the specific finite time span. My experience was managing a schedule that focused on income-producing activities, and leaned into your productivity cycle or until the job was done. In restaurants, they cut the floor as volume wanes. Once the silverware and glasses are polished, get off the clock. Sitting for a set period of time beyond when my peak productivity was anathema to me. I reasoned that if we have a daily goal of calls to hit, once that mark was hit, I should be able to move onto something else, instead of just bleeding the clock. I could see my call quality fall as the daily goal and my circadian sweet spot converged. And I wasn’t the only one. The last 2 hours of our team chat became meme and gifs of “I want to go home”.
I came to the realization that there is nothing wrong with me. I’m perfect, which I remind my husband often. This job and I were just not compatible, no matter how I wanted it to work. Nothing was wrong with the company, it just didn’t offer the work style that I thrived in. My previous jobs were so similar in manner and function, I had been lulled into forgetting what made me tick and excel as an employee.
So, within the romcom playbook, the denouement of the movie is the protagonist, armed with new self-actualization, brows furrowed, walking through Central Park on a glorious autumn day searching, yearning for an epiphany. So, I thought and thought and thought:
I thought about my foundation. Conversing with my father (my commonsense touchstone), I shared that I felt like a quitter, how could I consider quitting a perfectly good job? I also felt like a loser for starting something that I didn't desire to finish. (Whose voice is that inside my head?) I thought he would chasten me, but his advice made sense. How would I know if I liked something unless I tried it? If I didn’t take a chance on something new, I would never know. Now that I knew, I could move accordingly. Finding out what you don’t want is just as important as discovering what you do.
I thought about my children. When they asked me how I liked my job, my answer was “I like that it lets me take care of you.” It was an honest response, but not a good answer. I would never encourage my children to do a job JUST for the money. I’ve spent their lives working to give them every opportunity to chase their passions, to be fulfilled and happy-why was I modeling the opposite for them?
I thought about the company. It truly is one of the best companies I’d ever worked for. They deserved an employee that loved being a part of the team and gave 100% for that partnership’s bottom line. They didn’t deserve an employee that was faking it in a deli.
I thought about ‘the other woman’. I shouldn’t take a space from a person that would love coming to work every day. I shouldn’t be the obstacle keeping the company and another employee from finding each other and living happily ever after. If Julia Roberts couldn’t pull off playing the villain, who was I to try?
I FINALLY thought about myself. I am the star of this production, and I deserved the big proposal, the dream wedding, to give the winning presentation, to win the big race or hit the home run. Could I in good conscious stay with the perfect guy that makes all the sense in the world to love, or should I say the thing no one wants to admit: “I love me more”?
Thank God for my husband, the Jack that always has my back, who said what I needed to hear:
Monday morning, I called the person that hired me to give notice. She was shocked and inquired. I was honest and let her know that I loved everything about the company, but the job just wasn’t right for me. We even laughed at how apropos it was in this situation: It’s not you, it’s me. She was understanding “you can’t make a square peg fit a round hole”, which is probably the best description of how I felt. I wanted to be what this great job needed, but maybe I was a little Kim K: I didn’t like who I was in this relationship. (It’s crazy how often Kim K and I are in similar situations). The phone call ended amicably, she even encouraged me to search the company website for other positions. She promised a positive reference if I found something. She was like wise and emotionally mature Walter in Sleepless in Seattle, setting the proper tone of our final conversation.
As a teenager, there was summer loving, had me a blast, but unlike Sandy and Danny, my summer fling did not make it past homecoming. Rose says of Jack, there is no record of him, he lives only in my memory, and so it is with my workplace fling. Actually, I do have a w2 and a block of company stock, but you get the analogy. My time with the perfect company does not appear on my resume, I only lasted 4 months. But know this: that job did save me. It saved me in every way a job can save you. I went on a new adventure. I met wonderful people. I experienced a truly exceptional corporate culture. It made me look at myself, my values and goals with more clarity again. I don’t regret a thing but in love and in work: It’s Complicated.
Feel free to share when you made a painful break with either the perfect partner or job, or both!
If you recognized a few of my hidden and not so subtle romcom references, I applaud you. I do realize Titanic is not a romantic comedy, but Leo had a few zingers. I don't know about you, but I intend to write a strongly worded letter to the White Star Line about all of this. If you scolded me on its inclusion, you are a purist and epic movie nerd and will enjoy reading From Hollywood with Love. It was one of my favorite books in 2022 and a fun look at the history of the equally beloved and berated movie genre. Erin Carlson’s book I’ll Have What She’s Having is a must read for any Nora Ephron fan. She really gets BTS of the classic romcoms. Add them to your cart and get back to work!