Over a period of many, many years, I had taken on more responsibilities at work. Not all of them were expected of me, but of course they were welcomed. I had become an assistant without the title, someone trying to punch above his weight class. It was the way I thought I would eventually get promoted.
To be fair, I did end up playing the corporate game quite well. Eventually, I became an assistant. Chiming keys hanging from the side of my pants, special codes that allowed me to negotiate prices and close sales when situations called for it.
A narrative began weaving itself inside my head. I was becoming too valuable, too important for the people above me not to notice. I believed this so strongly that I thought the hard work would inevitably pay off. Part of me believed that playing the long game was playing the smart game. Running my own store someday, making the big bucks, as they say, felt clearly outlined in the cards. Time was my only rival.
Of course, it did not quite pan out that way. My position as an assistant was the highest echelon I ever achieved, and eventually I walked away from it all with a broken heart. The narrative had been an illusion, a small lie that gave me an extra push during the days when I questioned every choice I made.
I remember imagining some kind of collapse in my absence. I thought there would be reverberations, an echoing effect. After all, I was doing so much. I was appreciated. I was important, or so I told myself. But life was about to teach me another lesson, the kind that humbles us.
Nothing happened.
That was the conclusion I came to. I was quickly replaced, not because I lacked value, but because there was a job to be done and there were always people ready to take it. The system needed to continue chugging along, and learning how to dance to that rhythm was already written into store manuals long before I arrived.
I had to rethink my own sense of worth. Of course it hurt. How could it not? But over time, I learned to accept it, even if it contradicted every smile and every word of gratitude I had ever received.
Life moves on, and sometimes the boat we are currently voyaging on is simply no longer meant for us.
And you know what?
That is OK.
The boat and its crew will be OK.
And so will I.
— MenO
