I got fired. Now what.

Ok, that title isn’t entirely true. I’m not even sure if I was fired. I know that I had a job, then I had a conversation with the CEO and the head of Human Resources, and at the end of it, I didn’t have a job. I know that I didn’t quit. There doesn’t seem to be a third option, so I need to conclude that I was fired. You, reader, might be confused. It seems pretty straightforward: if you don’t have a job and you didn’t quit, then the conclusion must be that you were fired. Here’s why I’m confused. 

There wasn’t a violation of company policy. I didn’t swear at a customer or tell the President to go fu*k himself. I didn’t get into a fight or steal company secrets. I wasn’t drunk on the job. You could almost count some of those recruiting events as being “on the job” but I was never drunk. 

I didn’t fail to perform my duties. At least, I don’t think I did. To be honest, I never really understood what my job was. And by that, I mean that there weren’t any particular KPIs or targets that I was supposed to hit. It’s not like I had X of students to get through Y of programs. It was sort of like, “hey, come join the team. We’ll figure it out when you get here.” 

I wasn’t the wrong cultural fit. When I was hired, we were in the middle of a headquarters hiring frenzy. The mantra was “hire great people and we’ll find a place for them when they get here.” This can be a great hiring tactic if you’ve got a lot of vacant seats and you need to fill those seats with great people. But this only really functions well when you have role-assigned seating and you’re looking for people to fill those roles. Otherwise you’re more likely to end up with a great party than a great company. 

I did get some feedback during the firing conversation. There was a comment about not being able “get it done” and that, when someone recently gave me feedback, I reacted negatively. When I asked for more details, it was clear that the conversation was more about what the next steps looked like than it was about finding out the reasons why I was being fired. 

Getting fired was definitely a shock. I had a choice: I could either fight it, culturally, socially, legally, or I could accept what it was and move on. The CEO was generous with the severance package and was also willing to financially support my green card application, so I wasn’t at all inclined to take the legal route. Instead, I took the latter and I decided to move on.

The reasons why I took that second choice, I think, had to do with what I did directly after being fired. First thought: call the wife. I texted but she was at work and unable to get the phone. So I texted a friend and asked him if he had a minute. He called me back almost right away. I told him what happened and he wasn’t impressed. Then he said something that I’ll never forget, he said “Ok, over the next little while, a lot of thoughts will be running through your mind. And a lot of those thoughts will be negative. But there’s one thing that you have to know: you are surrounded by people who love and care about you and they’ll do anything they can to help you through this.” My eyes welled up when I heard those words and my eyes continue to get misty when I think about them. 

There are moments in life when the right words appear at the right time. Back when I was 18 and I had just been turkey-dumped (for those of you who don’t know what a turkey dump is, it occurs at thanksgiving every year when freshmen and freshwomen return home from college and break up with their significant other - who likely stayed home to wait for them while they went to school) by my first real girlfriend. We had talked about marriage. I gave her a promise ring. I know. Total cliche. I was devastated. I quickly spun into a downward spiral of depression. I buried myself in philosophy, looking for answers about how to deal with all of those negative emotions. And I eventually found what I was looking for. In the midst of the beginning stages of that spiral, my father and I had one of those right-words, right-time conversation. He simply said “Aaron, I really liked her. But she hurt you and I can’t forgive her for that.” It was a simple truth that I don’t think I was willing to accept at that moment, but those words have stuck with me since then. The simplicity of undeniable truth that comes from a place of love is sometimes the most important thing that we forget to say. 

Back to the moments after being fired. I wiped the mist out of my eyes and I knew that I needed to get on my bike. Cycling has always been therapeutic for me. Whatever I was dealing with, by the time I got to the top of the first hill or around the first set of technical obstacles, whatever it was, it was always a little less potent. Usually by the time that I get home, it was gone. With each pedal stroke, I’m able to push the pain and frustration through my legs, into the pedals, chain, wheel and tire, inevitably leaving it on the tarmac or buried in the dirt behind me. That works most of the time. This time was special. There would be no forgetting this time. 

I took one of my regular routes around Dixon reservoir. Just hilly and technical enough to force me to be in the moment. As I rounded the furthest turn and started to head home. My phone rang. It was my wife. She was driving home from Denver. I asked her if she had a moment to talk and suggested that she pull over - Denver traffic can be brutal at the best of times, and this was not a conversation that I wanted to have with her on interstate traffic during rush hour. She said she was able to talk, and so I told her. She cried. Luckily for me, by this point in the ride, the endorphins had kicked in and I was able to gather my thoughts enough to say “It’s not great. It’s not what I would have chosen, but we’re going to be ok. We have money saved up for just this kind of situation. We’re going to be alright.” 

While we were talking, a friend rode past, heading in the opposite direction. We waved as he passed by. A few minutes later, I was just finishing up with my wife and he came back, now heading in my direction. This particular friend is unlike a lot of other people I know: he’s always upbeat, positive, and always talking about great rides, either upcoming or recently past. Standing there with the shock wearing off, the endorphins coursing through my veins, having had the conversation that I needed to have with my wife, I was able to just be there in the moment with my friend. We talked for maybe 10-15 minutes about some of the great gravel rides in the area. He gave me all sorts of suggestions for places to go and groups to join. In those moments, he was the embodiment of community: warm, welcoming, encouraging. We didn’t talk about my being fired an hour before. We just talked about bikes. We rode together for the next mile or so and then he turned right and I kept going straight as we waved goodbye. This next part may seem strange, but I couldn’t help but think that he was my spirit animal. His overabundance of positivity was exactly what I needed in that moment. Not a wallowing about what pain I must be in or a discussion about the uncertainty of the future. Nope. Just a conversation about the simple joy of riding a bike. 

When I got home, friends who were visiting from out of town were there. I told them what happened and they asked if I needed space, if I needed them to get a hotel or something. I told them that wouldn’t be necessary. I talked. I rode. I’m going to be ok. That, in fact, ever since I went through the terrible cliche of the turkey dump, I enjoy moments like this because it gives me a chance to become exactly the person that I want to become: able to create a moment between action and reaction, able to, in that moment, decide how I want to react. And I chose to react with a simple statement: what can I learn from this?

So here’s the “now what” part of the story. 

I texted another friend and a couple days later I was spending the night at his house, bellies full of great pizza, and sipping on bourbon. We talked about his experience being let go from a very senior position. It was also a shock to him because there wasn’t a clear reason why it happened. He gave me some advice that nobody had given to him previously: “Take the time. Take the severance and go somewhere that’s been on your bucket list for a while. You’re very unlikely to get this time again, that is, until you retire. So take the time.” Sage advice. 

I spent two weeks biking, camping, and staring at the mountains with my dogs down in Buena Vista. Not too long after I was on a week long bikepacking trip across parts of Utah. Then up in Steamboat for more biking. Then to Peru for three weeks, hiking the Andes and walking around the Incan ruins of Machu Picchu. In each of those places, whether by myself or with others, I found simple truths that were undeniable and potent. While staring at snow-capped Mount Princeton, my three dogs passed out at my feet, I realized something that was so obvious that its obviousness belied a deeper meaning: I love my wife and my wife loves me. You would think that after six years of dating and seven years of marriage, that it would be obvious that we loved each other, but there was something else there. It wasn’t just about loving each other, but it was about the support and completeness that I felt when I thought about her. Thinking about her made me feel a deep sense of grateful abundance that took away the fear about what might be and gave me a sense of what can be. I can shape and share the life that I want because of her perpetual support of what I am going to do with my life. I had planned to spend an extra week in Buena Vista, riding and whatnot, but in that moment, while staring off at the collegiate peaks, I knew that I accomplished what I set out to accomplish and I just wanted to be back home with my wife. 

In between trips, I was reaching out to people, letting them know that I wasn’t with the company anymore. I wasn’t looking for a job, but just looking for advice - what would they do if they were in my situation? Lots of well-wishing came in that was supportive and helpful, but most of the conversations ended on a slightly surprising note: most people said that normally they would be concerned, but they weren’t at all concerned about me. They knew that I would land on my feet. When I was in the midst of the moment, where the future is uncertain, where I wasn’t sure if and when my next paycheck was going to come in, I thought that I wanted to hear people say that they were worried about me and that they would do whatever they could to help support me. But instead I got a more encouraging note resonating throughout our conversations: I had everything that I needed in order to be successful. I left each of those conversations with a feeling of wholeness that could only have come from the hard simple truths that each of my friends shared with me: I had everything that I needed to be successful. It was just a matter of becoming successful that was up to me. 

So I listened. And instead of rushing into the next job, I’ve been thinking more and more about the kind of person that I want to become, which helps me think about the kind of job that I want to have, and further helps me think about the kind of days that I want to live. A thought occurred to me during this process: the only thing that’s not in your control is how much you’re going to get paid. But other than that, you can start to live each day as you would like. I have this belief that if we live how we want and exercise all of our faculties, then the money will come. Focus on solving problems, real problems for real people, which is how I enjoy living my life, and the money will follow. It might not be hedge-fund money, but it’ll be enough to sustain the kind of life that I want. 

Here’s what that day looks like. I get up at 5:30 every weekday. I stretch for 10 minutes, meditate for 10 minutes, make myself a tea, then get to work. My “work” right now consists of building up the site that you’re likely reading this on. I write. I reflect. I think about the challenges that I need to overcome. I need to be more organized. I need to underpromise and overdeliver. I need to be less distracted. I keep a journal of what I’m doing at each moment and write down every time that I’m distracted up until around 8am. Keeping track of the entire day is not possible at this point. That might come, but right now I’m trying to create enough of a routine that I will accomplish what I want and I won’t be so easily distracted. 

Slowly I’m becoming more focused. The writing is coming back to me. Around 6:30, my wife’s alarm goes off and she requests a snuggle during her 10 minute snooze, to which I am happy to oblige. Then back to work, writing the blog, creating the newsletters. I’m getting better at mapping out what I want to accomplish each morning. Eventually I’ll start keeping an end-of day log to reflect on what went well and what I need to improve on for the next day. The idea is to create as much of a routine as possible, reduce decision making and fatigue, accomplish what I want, and become the person that I want, one routine at a time. 

The point is to start building a community of like-minded people who are committed to making the educational experience better for every veterinary professional. 

It’s a tall order with a long way to go, but my writing is meant to help push us in that direction. Sometimes my writing isn’t about that at all, but is more about something that I just need to get out into the world. It might be my way of trying to make sense of something, like being fired, or it might be because I’m frustrated by something, such as people’s critique of Descartes (more on that in another post). 

In any case, writing and riding are my coping strategies. They help me make sense of the world. And if you’ve gotten this far, then maybe my writing helps you make sense of your world too.

Thanks for reading.