“We decided to go in a different direction.”

“We decided to go in a different direction.”

In my 8-month job search, I’ve received dozens of emails to that effect. Sometimes, it’s accompanied by a vague compliment (“We were impressed with your qualifications”) which rings hollow when it’s obviously a system-generated message to all the rejected candidates. Surely, some of us were unimpressive? Also, why is a Fortune 500 company closing out job postings at 2:30 a.m. on Easter Sunday?

I’ve built up a thick skin and a sense of humor. Most rejections roll off me and onto my tracking spreadsheet. But sometimes, one pierces all the way through to my heart.

A month ago, I interviewed for a job that was different from my past roles but seemed to encompass everything I wanted. It was as if, my whole career, I’d been buying trail mix and wishing it had more M&Ms. This job was a bag of M&Ms. It had all of my favorite things about work, without the raisins.

I was delighted by the people, their values, and their ways of working. My cynicism about my layoffs and months of job searching fell away. If all of that was leading me here, then it was worth it.

Hope is a seductive thing.

I lived in hope for four weeks after that interview. I pictured myself commuting to that office and working alongside the lovely people who interviewed me. I imagined morning lattes from the cute neighborhood coffee shop, happy hours at the brewery down the street, the excitement of learning new things, and the satisfaction of doing great work for this cool company.

They asked me to do a project to demonstrate my skills. I spent three days (including, regrettably, my husband’s and son’s birthdays) in a fever dream of productivity, determined to show my new employer how competent and dedicated I am. They told me I did a great job. I screenshotted the email and told my friends, “I think I got it.”

Each weekday, I woke up thinking, “Today could be the day.”  I brought my phone everywhere, constantly refreshing my Gmail, ringer volume all the way up, anxious that the call would come while I was in the shower or refilling my bird feeder. I drafted my Facebook and LinkedIn posts in my head, imagining how I would share the news with friends, family, and former colleagues. I booked oil changes and doctor visits and dog grooming, thinking I would soon be too busy for weekday appointments with my new job. I pondered where to shop for my new business-appropriate wardrobe.

Today, I got my answer. They decided to go in a different direction.

Hope is a dangerous thing.

Maybe if I’d taken a more detached approach, I wouldn’t feel so heartbroken. Maybe if I hadn’t allowed myself to dream up this whole future, I could brush it off with all of the other rejections I’ve accumulated.

There are a few buildings around the Twin Cities where I interviewed for jobs I wanted and didn’t get. When I drive past, I picture an alternate version of me sitting in a cubicle inside that building, and I briefly wonder about her life. I’ll add this lovely office to that map.

This is who I am. I pour myself into my work. I care deeply about the people I work with and the things they ask me to do. I put so much heart into my work that sometimes I fall in love with jobs before I have them. I don’t know how to be any other way, and I don’t know if I want to. Someday, the right employer will come along and I will greet them with my heart wide open and my imagination on fire.

Hope can break your heart, but I wouldn’t want to live without it.