What Are the Odds?

It was supposed to be a job interview.

A fresh start.
A chance to focus on the future instead of the past.

I got dressed with intention that morning — no steel-toe boots, no high-vis vest, just heels and my favorite blazer. It felt symbolic, a reminder that I was stepping into a new chapter.

But when I pulled up to the address, something didn’t feel right.

I checked my GPS once.
Twice.
Maybe I’d entered the wrong location?
It couldn’t possibly be here.

Except… it was.
The café sat right across from a shop I had visited every week for months. The same shop building the tower I had poured my heart into — the tower I never got to see fully erected because, just two weeks ago, I was laid off.

Not in an office. Not even in person.
Over a Teams call.
In my car.
One week after a mid-year review that reflected good performance.

I had walked those streets before — but always in steel-toed boots, with the smell of welding in the air. That morning, I was in heels, résumé in my bag, and a knot in my stomach.

What are the odds?

The walk from my car to the café felt longer than it was. Every step was heavy with memories of steel, welding sparks, and the constant hum of the shop. My mind wasn’t in interview mode anymore — it was replaying the moment my career at that company ended, the weeks of effort and passion I had poured into a project that would now be completed without me.

That night, I had nightmares. I dreamt I was standing in the plant, watching the tower being lifted, hiding in the shadows because I no longer belonged there. Waking up at 3:00 a.m., my chest tight, I knew it wasn’t just sadness — it was trauma.

Learning Points

Resilience isn’t the absence of pain — it’s the decision to keep moving forward even when you’re carrying it with you.
Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is show up — even if your heart is still standing somewhere else.
Every ending reshapes you — it can leave you broken for a while, but it also clears a space for something new to grow, even if you can’t see it yet.

People say “business is business.” I understand that. But when you’ve given your time, your energy, and your passion to something, it stops being just business. It becomes a piece of your own story. Losing it is not simply a career change — it’s a personal loss.

Leaders often underestimate the human cost of transition. Respect, empathy, and honesty don’t change the decision, but they change the memory. And memories last far longer than projects.

That interview? I didn’t give my best performance. My thoughts were still across the street, among the steel and scaffolding. But I left reminded of something important: resilience isn’t a single act. It’s a practice. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s about just showing up the next day. And sometimes, it’s about letting yourself grieve what’s gone so you can make space for what’s next.

So yes, walking into that café knocked the wind out of me.
It pulled me back into a place I thought I’d left behind.
For a moment, I wanted to run.

But I didn’t.
I stayed.
I had the conversation.

That day reminded me that resilience isn’t always about bold comebacks or big declarations. Sometimes, it’s just the quiet act of showing up when every part of you wants to turn away — one uncomfortable step at a time.

¿Qué probabilidades había de que una entrevista de trabajo me llevara justo frente al lugar donde había pasado meses trabajando… y donde, dos semanas antes, recibí la llamada que puso fin a mi empleo?
Ese momento me devolvió recuerdos que todavía duelen y me hizo revivir la pasión que puse en un proyecto que ya no vería terminar. Aprendí que la resiliencia no significa no sentir dolor, sino avanzar a pesar de él; que a veces el acto más valiente es simplemente presentarse; y que cada final, aunque amargo, abre espacio para algo nuevo.