The Best Thing I Never Got

Some say life is a story. If that’s true, mine started as a cautionary tale.

At least, that’s what it felt like standing in that gray, buzzing office while my boss (who’d said my name had come immediately to mind days ago) suddenly couldn’t even look me in the eye.

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

He dropped it like a half-hearted apology card, as if that could soften the blow. I stood there, willing my face to stay neutral while inside, I was a full-blown dumpster fire.

Shock. Anger. Humiliation. That deep, gnawing disappointment that curdles in your stomach before you can even name it.

He kept talking. "We’ve decided to go in another direction. But you should hold your head high, you interviewed great…it’s just..." Blah blah blah. Corporate lines sprayed like Febreze on a fresh turd.

What stung the most wasn’t just the rejection; it was the whiplash.

Because I had had hope. Stupid, stubborn hope that maybe, finally, all the years of showing up, taking on extra duties, and dragging myself across the finish line of a degree at 40 were about to pay off.

Apparently not.
To me, it wasn’t just a “no,” it was a violent shove back into my cubicle, surrounded by filing cabinets taller than I was.
Back to the corner where even the view out the window was a myth.

It felt personal.
Because it was.

I stayed home the rest of the week, licking my wounds and dragging my self-esteem behind me like dead weight.

I replayed everything on a loop, wondering what I’d done wrong. Why I wasn’t enough. Why all my nose-to-the-grindstone effort still hadn’t earned me a seat at the table.

It took a few days, but eventually, clarity smacked me like a frying pan to the face:
I was grieving a job I hadn’t even really wanted. Not deep down.

The truth was, I'd never belonged in that fluorescent-lit hamster wheel.
(In fairness, I'm pretty sure the boss saw that well before I did.)
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 bothered to look me in the eye while telling me "no."

Funny thing about losing…sometimes it’s the first real win.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt something that hit suspiciously like freedom. That day in my boss’s office wasn’t the end of my story.

It was just the best thing I never got.

Of course, in the real world, you don't just rage-quit and peel out of the parking lot blasting “Born to Run.” Bills exist. Reputations matter.

Plus, my husband already told me “no” when I asked if I could. So there was that.

So, I stayed;  I kept my head down, but this time it was strategic.
I promised myself the next step would be something real. Something mine.

And wouldn’t you know it? Just a few weeks later, the door I needed cracked open. My husband got a job offer out of state.
A clean break.
It was both terrifying and precisely what I needed.

I couldn’t tell anyone yet, though; it was way too risky.
If it fell through, I’d be the idiot who cried "New Life!" for nothing.

If the higher-ups caught wind of it, I believed they’d find ways to punish me for daring to have options.  

So I sat with it and waited. I played my cards so close to the chest they practically left paper cuts. And when the final offer came in, I didn’t even blink.

The next day, I handed my resignation to the same boss who couldn’t find the courage to believe in me.

Turns out the best thing I never got had already made room for the life I needed.

After we moved, I did what scared people usually do: I broke my promise to myself.  I dusted off the ‘ol resume and chased after jobs that looked good on paper but felt like hypocrisy once I tried them on.

I landed interviews and a few offers. Managerial titles, mostly, trying to justify my hard-won degree. But every time I “succeeded” it felt more like a backward step.

Fear will have you trying to squeeze back into places you’ve already outgrown.

The best thing I never got had already cleared the road for me. I just had to stop moving backward.

Eventually, there was only one thing left to do: the thing I’d already been doing in the shadows for years: write.

I’d been ghostwriting, creating resumes, and coaching people who didn’t know how to tell their own stories without underselling themselves or sounding like complete psychopaths.

Then I got certified, and the real work began. I helped new grads, business executives, veterans, tech pros, and entertainment industry workers.
I helped them all.
(I don’t say that to brag; I say it because it still blows my mind sometimes that people trusted me to help tell the next chapter of their lives.)

Somewhere between tweaking cover letters and LinkedIn profiles at midnight and teaching brilliant people how to stop minimizing their own success, I built something better than a business.

I built a life.

Today, I’m busier than I’ve ever been, but it’s the good kind of busy.

Emails firing before dawn.
The dog posted up at the door, shedding and barking at passersby like it’s her job.
The smell of roasting chickens wafting through the house while I work.
My family stomping in soon, dragging backpacks, work bags, and a thousand questions about what’s for dinner.

The kind of life that's messy and impossible to schedule…and usually better than anything I ever thought I deserved when I was sitting in that windowless gray cubicle, swallowing my dreams.

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

I learned that rejection isn’t the enemy, and sometimes "no" is the best gift you can get. Because the God's honest truth is, if I had gotten that promotion, I know exactly what would’ve happened.

I would’ve clung to that job. I would’ve convinced myself it was enough, trading dreams for stability and calling it success.
And for some people, it is. Sometimes it has to be. But I knew if I stayed, I'd lose the part of me that still wanted more.

Instead, every email I send, every project I finish, every family dinner filled with chaos and laughter—it’s all proof that I'm where I'm supposed to be right now.

And I didn't get here alone. The Balkan Storm keeps things steady while I chase something uncertain, because sometimes building a life means holding the door open while the other one runs through it.

Sometimes the best thing you never get...is what clears the way for everything you really need.

I'm here. You're here. Might as well connect.