How We Choose To Tell Our Stories

Some ideas rush into our heads with urgency and fanfare. Others take their time, showing up unannounced, pretending that they have always been there. One idea quietly snuck into my head on a Friday morning, eight months after I had abruptly lost my job. The job loss had shaken me. In all previous job changes I had been driving the change — not in this one. I had found and started a new job, but I had also spent a lot of those previous eight months re-evaluating my life, particularly the stories I tell myself and others about who I am and who I want to be.

This intrusive idea gently pointed out that I also needed to decide how I wanted to tell the story of my past. The idea was right: I no longer knew how I wanted to tell the story of my previous decade. If I couldn't tell the story of my past, how could I reasonably tell the story of my present and future?

In this post I explore that idea by diving into the disruption created by my job loss. I also review what I’m doing to tell my story with a narrative I both believe and feel good about. It is part of a series of posts reflecting on losing my job.

My daughter reading a story to her second-grade class on her birthday, many years ago. 

 

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My Story Through 2014

I can easily tell my life story through 2014. Here is the condensed version:

I grew up a smart, if awkward, kid in the suburbs with supportive parents who loved me. I did well in school and was confident that I would succeed in life. I went to college to study computer engineering. Over five great years I produced a strong academic record and a year’s worth of professional work experience. Towards the end of those five years, I met and started dating the woman I eventually married.

High school yearbook picture of me

After graduating, I went to a top graduate school and pursued a Ph.D. I was still that same smart kid, but graduate school and research didn’t suit me as well as undergraduate classes had. I did well in my classes but struggled with the open-endedness and abstractness of the research. I also struggled with living in the midwest far away from my family. I fought through those struggles and (eventually) graduated with my Ph.D. 

Major personal life events unfolded during my grad school years. In chronological order: I married my wife, my father unexpectedly died, I attended the Final Four and watched my alma mater win (go Cuse!), and my daughter was born. 

With my wife at our wedding

My father with a map on a hiking trip

Me standing in the last row of the SuperDome watching the Final Four

My daughter at one day old

After finishing grad school, I got a job as a researcher at IBM in New York. I built a role for myself and did well. Among other things I worked on the architecture and performance evaluation of IBM POWER8 processor and co-created and ran a peer group for new hires. My wife and I continued to raise our family (now four of us after the birth of our son) and we put down roots in our new community. I joined a hiking group and hiked a lot. After nine productive years at IBM, I moved on to the next step in my professional journey.

My son at a few days old

 

Disruption to My Professional Story

I joined a small but rapidly growing company. I spent ten years with this company before I was abruptly let go. I’m still figuring out how I want to tell the story of those ten years of my professional life.

A year before I lost my job, I would have told the following story: I joined a small but growing database company that was full of excitement, optimism, and smart people. I joined a team working to understand and improve the performance of the database. We had no idea what we were doing at the start, but over time, we figured it out, building tools and processes to help ourselves. As we kept improving that infrastructure, we pushed the state of the art forward for our industry, including publishing articles about it. I took increasing responsibility for that infrastructure, first stepping into a management role, and then building a new team to cover the areas of performance testing that were still missing.

I discovered I didn’t enjoy being a manager and I transitioned into a staff engineer role, with an even stronger sense of ownership and responsibility for the performance of our software. I worked to build the best role for myself and to do right by the company. Along the way, I also helped build communities within the company and develop my junior colleagues. I celebrated that I got to work at a special place.

This is a story full of challenges, growth, and positive memories.

In my final year I would tell that story, with the addition of a big jump forward in defining that role for myself, changing jobs and managers, with all the stress that comes with that.

In the days after losing my job, I no longer knew how to tell my story. It felt like a bad breakup. I had left jobs and roles before, but I had always been the one in control, driving the change — I was not in control of this change.

Rewriting My Story

Today I am trying to figure out what story I want to tell to myself and others about my time at that job. I'm trying to reconcile my many fond memories with the very non-fond memories of the end. As described above, the first nine years are easy for me to talk about, full of challenges, growth, success, and joy. The challenge is ending the story.

I can tell a story ending with anger at the forces that resisted my intentional efforts and ultimately led to my dismissal. I always try to acknowledge my emotions, because they are my emotions. But I don't want to dedicate much of my time to anger. Anger seldom helps me advance my life goals.

I can tell a story ending with self-recrimination and self-doubt about missed signals and opportunities. I do not like this story, but I'm willing to stay with it long enough to see what I can learn from it.

I can tell a story of a company changing as it rapidly grows during times of market changes (Covid pandemic, increasing interest rates, ...) — a company changing into something that I found less exciting and welcoming. As I discussed in Special Places, change is inevitable and it’s not worth getting upset about it. Rather, we/I should acknowledge the change and celebrate that the great parts existed for a time.

Finally, I can tell a story of intentionally setting my path, taking chances, and living with whatever comes, even though that outcome wasn’t what I had wanted. That is the heart of the Scariness of Getting What You Want.

All these stories are true. I suspect the story I will eventually want to tell will include parts of all of them. It’s a messy story, including plans, intentions, emotions, and external forces. I’m working on developing that integrated story that acknowledges the bad parts so I can learn from them, while embracing and celebrating the good parts. I think it’s going to take me some time to get it right — writing this post helps.

Thank you to Heather Beasley Doyle for her feedback on this post and her support through this entire period of my life. This post has particularly benefited from Heather's help, with multiple rounds of feedback and edits. Heather is a gifted writer. You should check out her homepage and her writing. 

Re-Learning My Identity – Step One

(Author’s Note – This is part of a series focused on job loss and is the first of three posts focused on identity. I wrote this post in December 2024.)

This past summer I suddenly and unexpectedly lost my job. I had been contemplating leaving this job for a while, but being asked to leave still came as a horrible shock. It was scary. Losing my salary and health benefits was scary. Losing my work social network was scary. But, by far and away the scariest part was the threat to how I saw myself — my identity.

Since that day, I have focused on how I define myself. I am trying to define myself in a way that is not dependent on my job and that is robust to changes in my job. While I have just started on this journey, I wanted to share some early learnings and experiences.

 

My plaque for reaching 10 years of employment at my last job. I lost that job a couple of months after receiving the plaque. 

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Backstory

For over 10 years I had worked at the same company. I had recently received a plaque from the company celebrating those 10 years, along with a nice gift, and the promise of an eight-week paid sabbatical. Over those 10 years, I had built myself into the performance person there. I knew more about testing the performance of our software than anyone else in the company. I was involved in designing and building all of our performance-testing infrastructure. Additionally, I was known in the performance engineering community as the performance guy at that company. I had published blog posts and papers about how we tested performance, and given many talks on the same subject.

Suddenly I wasn’t that person. I didn’t work there, so clearly I wasn’t the performance guy at that company. If I wasn’t that person, who was I? I was still the same husband, parent, friend, who loved to hike, cook, and read, but my professional identity was a large part of my total identity. It was gone and I felt incomplete and adrift without it.

I vowed to never let this happen again. I will no longer define myself (even just my professional self) in terms of my job. That starts by talking about my work, rather than about my job, as my work may be a job, but it may also be volunteering or a hobby. My work will be an expression of my identity, but will not be my identity itself. To meet that vow, I needed to develop a new self-definition. That is easier said than done. I’ve spent the last several months working on this challenge, and I expect to continue working on it for the rest of my life.

Learnings So Far

While I don’t have complete answers yet, I have learned a few things. I started this effort by seeing what I could learn from others: by talking to people and by reading. There’s a lot of literature around identity formation. While most of that literature focuses on adolescents, some, such as Designing Your Life, focuses on adults. The literature has recurring themes around identifying both your values and what you find rewarding. Experimentation can help confirm those learnings and test out potential identities.

I am doing that work. Thankfully, I have been doing some of that work for years, leading a very reflective life. I’m continuing to do that while keeping these new ideas in my head.

Pillars of My New Identity

I’ve started by focusing on the parts of my identity disrupted by losing my job. I intend to extend this work to have a complete sense of my identity. So far, I know that at my best:

1. I make things that other people use.
2. I make the people around me better.
3. I’m a learner who pulls together disparate ideas to create cool things.
4. I write in service of the first three goals.

Through it all, I want the world to be a better place for me having been here. The specifics of how I make the world better will change over time, but I always want to be a positive force.

At my previous job, I built tools that others used to make our product faster, and our many customers used that product to do incredible things. At my next job I will help improve software that helps small and midsized businesses focus on their key business, rather than human resources processes. I have mentored people in the past and will continue to do so, both formally and informally. I listen and give them advice to help them live their best lives. Writing lets me help more people than I could by just talking to individuals. And my learning mindset helps me do a better job at all of this.

Into The Future

I’m starting a new job in a few days. I will dive in and make the best contribution that I can. I will make sure that I express those four pillars of my identity, ultimately making the world a better place. I will also continue to explore who I want to be and work to become that person. At some point, my new job may stop being the best place for me to express and grow that identity. When that happens, I will celebrate my personal progress and shared work experiences, I will find my next, next thing, and jump forward with both feet.

Along the way, I will write about my learnings and experiences so that we can continue to grow together. I encourage you to reflect on how you define your identity and to update it, especially if you define yourself in terms of your job. Additionally, if you have experiences or perspectives that would help me on my journey, I would love to hear from you. I always love learning, and learning from others is usually the fastest path forward for me.

Thank you to Heather Beasley Doyle for her feedback on this post and her support through this entire period of my life. Heather is a gifted writer. You should check out her homepage and her writing. 

Trying to Take a Break

It was a beautiful Monday morning last summer as I sat down on a lounge chair to relax. I had lost my job five days earlier, but was in no rush to find the next job – or even to look. So I was taking some time off: My plan was to do whatever I wanted to do. I had spent the previous four days backpacking with friends on an already-planned (and wonderful) trip. This was the first day I would have been going to work if I still had my job. I did my morning meditation, solved the Wordle, and started flipping through the newspaper. Soon, I noticed a sinking feeling spreading through the pit of my stomach and a growing sense of dread.

This dread wasn’t about money or health care — I had planned for those things. It wasn’t about any specific need. Instead, it was about my complete freedom, and the lack of structure suddenly staring me in the face. I am a person of habit and routine whose routines were gone, and whose habits no longer felt relevant.

This post is the second in a series of posts reflecting on losing my job.

My lounge chair, newspaper, and games waiting for me.

Making Sense of Disruption

I waved goodbye to the smiling faces arrayed before me on my monitor and prepared to join my next call. It was late Wednesday morning, and these were my last two calls before starting a four-day weekend. I looked forward to finishing up some tasks, cleaning up loose ends, and heading out on my annual backpacking trip. The call had been a going-away for my friend Amy. Her last day would be Friday, but this call had been scheduled for Wednesday so I could attend. My next call was my regular one-on-one with my manager, also moved up because of my time off. Things had been strained between us, so I wasn't exactly looking forward to it, but I was looking forward to getting it over with and heading out on my vacation.

I clicked the link and the video call opened. Instead of one, there were two people on this call: my manager and someone I did not know. That could not be good. Was I being put on a performance improvement plan? My boss quickly introduced the second person — she was from HR — and then continued. "David, you are not meeting my performance expectations for a staff engineer. Further, I do not see a path for you to meet those expectations. Therefore we are letting you go, effective today.”

He told me our colleague from HR would walk me through the process.

“Do you have any questions for me?" he asked.

I did have questions. I had questions for him, for her, and later, I had many questions for myself.

That Wednesday was over a year ago. Many things changed for me in that moment, and I have spent a lot of time thinking about it since then. This post introduces a series of posts about my thinking, learning, and life over the past year. The first post is out now, with the remainder to follow.

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Before continuing, I would like to briefly address “You are not meeting my performance expectations.” It’s true, I wasn’t meeting his expectations. It’s also true that I was good at my job. All my formal reviews had been good to great in my 10 years in that job. I usually received glowing reviews and was promoted twice. After being let go, I received many touching notes from colleagues who were shocked and upset that I had been let go. Many of the notes directly contradicted my manager’s story.

While it is scary to say publicly that I was fired, I think it is important to the story I want to tell. I also think sharing it may help others in similar tough times.

That said, this series is not about my dismissal per se, but rather my reaction to it and my continual attempts to make sense of it so I could move on and make the most of my life, experiencing and creating as much goodness (joy, wonder, love, satisfaction, …) as possible. This story starts well before my firing, and continues well afterwards. I have tried to intentionally live my life, regularly reflecting on what makes me happy and fills me with energy, and what does the reverse. Those reflections led me to both become a manager (lead engineer), and then eventually step away from that job. After transitioning from management to a staff engineer role, I continually tried to define my own job to be the best it could for myself and my company. Those efforts set the scene for this series.

• This series starts with me getting the role I had long worked to develop and sell. Starting that role was scary, as I then needed to deliver in that high stakes role. In this first post, I talk about framing that pressure and the nervousness of having to deliver in that new position.
• The series continues after my dismissal as I tried to give myself the space I needed to adjust. It turns out that too much free space can be terrifying, at least for me.
• Losing my job was a large shock to my sense of identity, and I have been actively reshaping my sense of self. Several posts in the series cover my thinking and shaping of my identity:
• Early in my time off, I started to grapple with the question of “Who am I?” I had let too much of my identity be tied up in my job. Losing my job disrupted how I thought of myself.
• After spending a lot of time grappling with who I am, I realized I didn’t know who I was. At least I didn’t know how to tell the story of my personal journey over the past 10 years, including losing my job.
• After continued reflection, I returned to who I wanted to be, as a unified human being. I didn’t want a professional identity and a personal identity. I wanted one unified identity, with my professional life being one expression of that identity. I expect this will be a continuing process for the rest of my life. I feel really good about my current framing of my identity.
• Finally, the period of reflection covered by this series ends with me starting my next job and moving on to the next chapter of my life.

These posts, including the reflection, drafts, editing, and discussion that went into them, are part of the larger process I’ve been going through as I’ve made sense of this part of my life — and my life going forward. Writing them has been a healing, growing, and positive part of my past year. I share it all with you in the hope that it might help you or otherwise resonate with you. If any of it does help or resonate, I would love to hear from you about it.

Thank you to Heather Beasley Doyle for her feedback on this post and her support through this entire period of my life. Heather is a gifted writer. You should check out her homepage and her writing. 

The Scariness of Getting What You Want

I was sitting on my mother's couch after Christmas, crossword puzzle in hand, when my stomach suddenly dropped. The puzzle hadn’t suddenly frightened me, nor had anything happened around me. Rather, my mind had jumped forward to the end of my vacation and returning to work. I liked my job. I had successfully changed it to better align with my interests and abilities over the previous year. What scared me was thinking about the stakes of those changes: I had spent a lot of political capital crafting that role for myself and I needed to deliver the expected results.

This post explores the expectations and anxiety of getting an opportunity you want and then trying to deliver on its promise. We never know how things will turn out or what challenges will arise. The most we can do is put ourselves in good situations with good chances for success, do our best, and then accept whatever comes — good or bad.

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Desire for Change

In the summer of 2020, I left my role as a manager and shifted to a staff engineering role. I spent the next two years working with a new manager to rebuild the team, with him as its lead. We grew the team from two of us to 10, and all 10 of us continuously supported and learned from each other. I was proud of what we had built together, but with that done, I felt unsatisfied. I was not achieving the goals I had laid out for myself when I stepped away from being a manager:

 

Now I’m working to keep the parts of my role that did bring me energy, and remove the parts that did not. I absolutely love the impact I've had on how we test performance. I love all the things that we built, including our structure and processes. I love having insight into so many parts of the engineering organization and helping drive the big picture on performance testing. I love helping junior colleagues learn and grow, sharing learnings with them (so long as I don't also have to evaluate them).

Specifically, I wasn’t happy with my progress on having insight into so many parts of the engineering organization and helping drive the big picture on performance testing. So in late 2022, I set out to change my role once again.

Advocating for Change

I worked to define a new role that would make me happier. The role should have the insight and big picture impact I was missing. It should include reporting to the right level of management so I could have the reach, influence, and support to do the things I wanted. And it should include many of the things I knew filled me with energy, such as writing and sharing my learnings (blogs, papers, talks), reading and learning (research papers, blogs), and interacting with passionate people. Around this time I wrote a blog post on defining your own job. At the end of it I said:

I know what I want to do: I want to advance the state of the art of performance testing and software engineering at MongoDB, ideally through collecting, curating, and demonstrating the best ideas from the performance community and academia.

I started to pitch a role based on those things. A role in which I could interact with multiple teams, leverage the best the research community could provide us, and turn that into something real with big impact. I wrote a proposal capturing the role and talked to people about it – a lot of people.

There wasn't much appetite in my organization for a research-focused role. Everyone loved the results I had delivered using academic research, but we suffered from smaller, pressing problems that we needed to solve at that moment. Before we could invest in the larger and more interesting things, we needed to do the simpler things to solve problems today.

An Updated Proposal

I took the feedback, learned from it, and reflected. The perfect job should fit my needs and the company's needs. These conversations made the company’s needs clearer to me. I updated my role proposal to better align with both sets of needs: making our performance testing infrastructure stronger in the near term, while enabling greater things in the future. The proposal now focused on straightforward engineering work instead of research, and leaned more heavily into planning and coordination. It met my need for broad impact and the company's need for immediate results. The role would eventually enable the more advanced work I wanted to do.

I didn’t share the proposal at this point; instead, I started on the work it described. I teamed up with my product manager to write and submit a formal project proposal based on my role proposal. The project proposal laid out work for several teams for the next two years. 

Living the Change

The project was approved, with me as its technical lead. With that, I shared my updated role proposal with key people. It now described a role I was already doing.

I found a sponsor. With their help I changed teams and started reporting higher in the org chart. I was in a better place to achieve my goals for myself and for my company! Success!

Scariness

This is when things got scary. I had invested a lot of time, effort, and political capital to build this role for myself. If I didn’t succeed in the role, it would all be for naught.

I could see what I needed to do to succeed. However, there were many things I could not control. If this new role didn’t work out, I couldn’t go back to my old role – I didn’t want to, and most likely it wouldn’t be available to me if I did. No other role would be a better fit for me within the company. And, having spent most of my political capital, I couldn’t expect much help changing roles again. Essentially, my only options were to succeed or to leave. I was operating without a safety net.

Lowering the Stakes

While the differences between success and failure were stark, I didn’t want to live in fear. I worked to reframe how I looked at the situation. We never know the future with certainty, so every choice we make is a gamble. I asked myself questions about this bet: Is this a good bet? Would I make this bet again knowing what I know now? Can I live with the consequences if I lose this bet?    

As I sat on my mother's couch with my crossword puzzle, I answered these questions: Yes it is a good bet. Yes, I would make this bet again. Yes, I can live with the consequences of losing this bet.

I began to relax. The fear did not completely go away, but I could put it in perspective. Since then, I have worked hard to remember this perspective whenever that kind of fear comes back.

Similarly, I encourage you to choose your best opportunities. Whenever the future seems scary, reflect on whether you have given yourself your best chance for success and if you can accept the consequences if these chances do not pan out. If the answers are no, go make changes. If the answers are yes (I hope they are), try to keep that perspective and let go of your fear.

Thank you to Heather Beasley Doyle for her feedback on this post. I am a better writer and this is a better post due to her efforts. Heather is a gifted writer. You should check out her homepage and her writing. 

I’m Starting a New Job

Tomorrow (January 2nd, 2024) I start a new job. Five months ago I left my previous job with no idea of what would come next, beyond taking a long break to relax and recharge. 

Me, at an early viewpoint on Wildcat Mountain towards the start of a backpacking trip and the beginning of my 5 months off. Photo courtesy of Tom Lehmann.