Man, September 2017. I remember it like it was yesterday, even though it feels a lifetime ago. Everyone was buzzing about “Virgo Career Forecasts” and what the stars had in store. Me? I was just trying to figure out what the hell I had in store for my own career, because whatever it was, it sure wasn’t what I was doing back then.
I was stuck, alright? Woke up every morning feeling this dull dread. My job was… fine. It paid the bills, but it didn’t spark anything. I’d stare at my computer, pushing pixels around, feeling like a robot. And all those predictions, “Virgos will see new opportunities,” “a breakthrough is coming”—it just sounded like a bunch of fluff when my reality was so damn beige. So I said to myself, screw the forecast, I gotta make my own damn storm.
Why did I get so fired up? It wasn’t some sudden epiphany from a crystal ball. My old man, he had a health scare earlier that year. Nothing life-threatening, thankfully, but it really knocked the wind out of us as a family. Suddenly, all that talk about “stability” and “future-proofing” hit me hard. My job felt like a house of cards. If something happened again, was I really ready? Could I pivot? Could I support everyone? That’s when the switch flipped. I stopped waiting for the universe to hand me a career forecast and started writing my own.
Taking Control: My September Scramble
So, come September, when folks were just chilling, sipping pumpkin spice lattes, I was on a mission. The first thing I did was take a long, hard look in the mirror. No, not literally. I started digging into what I actually liked, what I was decent at, and what made my eyes light up. I grabbed an old notebook, scribbled down all my skills – even the stupid ones like “making a mean instant coffee” – and then thought about what I truly enjoyed doing, even if it wasn’t work-related. Spent hours online, just browsing, seeing what kinds of jobs even existed out there beyond my little cubicle world. It was messy, no clear path, just a lot of brainstorming and bad ideas. I also asked a few trusted friends, “What do you think I’m actually good at?” Some of their answers surprised me, some validated what I already kinda felt inside.
Then came the brutal honest part: what I was missing. I realized pretty quickly that my resume was a joke. It was years old, full of fluff and outdated tech that nobody cared about about anymore. So, I ripped it apart. I mean, shredded it and started from scratch, piece by painful piece. I spent evenings teaching myself new things. I remembered always being decent with organizing stuff, making sense of chaos. So, I started looking into project management. Found a free online course, something basic, just to get my feet wet. I committed to doing an hour every night after work, even if my brain felt like mashed potatoes after a full day.
This skill-building wasn’t always smooth sailing. There were nights I just wanted to binge-watch TV, but I pushed through. I made myself a little checklist:
- Updated my LinkedIn profile, making sure it reflected the new me I was trying to build.
- Completed that free intro course on project management. It was basic, but it gave me some jargon and a framework.
- Started reading industry blogs, just to understand the landscape. Felt like I was back in school, but this time, it was for my future.
- Practiced writing simple project briefs. Even just for imaginary projects, it helped get the gears turning.
Yeah, it was slow, but it was progress. And that felt good, way better than the stagnant feeling from before.
Next up was getting out there. Ugh, the networking. I hate it. Introvert problems, I guess. But I forced myself. I dusted off my old LinkedIn profile, connected with folks I hadn’t talked to since college. Sent some awkward messages. I even reached out to a former colleague I vaguely remembered, just to “catch up.” The conversation was stiff, but I managed to ask about their company and if they knew anyone hiring for roles even remotely related to project management. It was a shot in the dark, but you gotta shoot, right?
I also went to one of those local meetups for “professionals”—stood in the corner for a bit, pretending to look busy on my phone, then managed to exchange a few clumsy sentences with someone who also looked just as uncomfortable. It wasn’t pretty, but I told myself every little interaction was a brick in my new career path. I picked up a few business cards, sent a follow-up email, all that jazz. Felt totally fake at first, but then you realize everyone’s just trying to navigate this chaotic world.
The Grind and the Breakthrough
Once I felt like I had a slightly better grip on what I wanted and what I could offer, I started firing out applications. It was a numbers game, I knew that. I set a target: at least five applications a week, no excuses. I’d tailor my resume a bit for each one, really trying to make it sound like I was born for that specific job, even if I was stretching the truth a little. I kept a simple spreadsheet to track everything:
- Date applied
- Company name
- Job title
- Link to posting
- Status (Applied, Interview 1, Rejected, etc.)
This kept me organized and showed me I was actually doing something, even when the rejections piled up. And boy, did they pile up. Most of them were crickets. Silence. Maybe an automated “thanks but no thanks” email. It was demoralizing, absolutely. But that little voice in my head, the one born from my old man’s scare, just kept pushing me.
I distinctly remember one application. It was for a junior project coordinator role, somewhere I thought was way out of my league. The job description had a bunch of stuff I only vaguely understood, but I thought, what the hell? Worst they can say is no, right? So I sent it off, didn’t think much of it. Then, two weeks later, an email for an interview. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. I prepped like crazy. Read every article I could find on interview techniques. Practiced answers in front of my mirror, feeling like a total goofball, trying to sound confident even when my knees were shaking. The first interview was a blur of nerves. The second one, I felt a tiny bit more confident, tried to relax and just be myself, which is tough when you’re trying to impress someone.
Then, the offer came. I almost missed the call, thought it was spam. It wasn’t a huge jump in pay, but it was a completely new industry, a new skill set, and a chance to actually build something. It was terrifying. Leaving the familiar, even if it was dull, was a huge step. I wrestled with the decision for a couple of days, talked it over with my wife. We crunched numbers, worried about the unknown. But that fear, it was different. It wasn’t the dull dread; it was the exciting kind of fear. The kind that says you’re actually alive and making a choice, taking a risk for something better.
So I took it. Gave my two weeks’ notice at the old place, packed my dusty desk. It felt like shedding old skin. It wasn’t some grand, glorious “forecast” delivered by the stars. It was a messy, uncomfortable, self-made forecast that I fought for, piece by piece, through late nights and awkward conversations. And you know what? It was the best damn prediction I ever made for myself.
