I clearly recall my supervisor handing me the envelope without even looking me in the eye. I spent twelve years of my life with him, and he was unable to be honest with me for even five minutes.
He muttered, “It’s just the economy.” “It’s nothing personal.”
Nothing private.
It was personal, though.
I felt like my chest was collapsing as I left the building. All I could think of were the food I couldn’t afford, the rent that was due the following week, and my dad’s way of saying, “You should’ve taken the safer job.” I didn’t even bother removing my coat by the time I returned to my flat. I simply fell onto the couch and gazed at the ceiling in blankness.
Without that job, I had no idea who I was. Not with that title.
My phone buzzed at that point.
Unknown figure.
I nearly disregarded it. Nearly. But I had to respond for some reason, either out of desperation or simply stubbornness.
What about the other voice? I hadn’t spoken to that person in five years.
“Hi, Nina,” she murmured. “This is Clara.”
Hernandez, Clara. My former roommate from college. I fumbled through life trying to keep up with the one person who always seemed to have her act together. Following graduation, we had drifted apart—not because we had a falling out, but rather because life had taken us in separate paths. She entered the nonprofit sector and began touring the world to assist communities in recovering from natural disasters. Me? I stayed in the area, looking for jobs and promotions.
Clara went on, “I heard what happened.” “I apologize. I am aware of how diligently you worked there.
I was surprised by what she said. Neither family members nor friends had called. Only automated LinkedIn emails with articles titled “How to Bounce Back After Being Fired” or recommendations for new contacts.
I mumbled, “Thanks,” not knowing what else to say. “How did you manage to…”
“A mutual friend brought it up,” she said hastily. This isn’t merely a polite call, you see. Do you recall the proposition I mentioned to you a few years ago?
I remembered, of course. Clara had asked me five years prior whether I would like to work with her at the international humanitarian organization Horizon Hope. To manage the logistics of their disaster relief activities, they required a project manager. I had laughed it off at the moment. “Me? Do you work in the field? I can hardly manage camping, Clara! In addition, I had been moving up the corporate ladder at the time and was certain that a corner office was necessary for both success and stability.
But now that I was sitting on my tattered couch without a job, I remembered her offer in a different way. What if I had accepted?
With hesitation, I uttered, “That was a long time ago.” “Why do you bring it up at this time?”
Clara clarified, “Because we’re expanding.” Here in Puerto Rico, we’re starting a program aimed at sustained hurricane recovery. To be quite honest, Nina, I’ve always considered how excellent you would be for this type of employment. You may not be aware of it, but you have a strong sense of organization, resourcefulness, and human compassion. That is just what we require at this moment.
Her faith in me was strange but strangely reassuring. But uncertainty began to creep in. “I have no knowledge about nonprofits, Clara. or storms. or Puerto Rico!
“You don’t need to,” she told me. “We’ll instruct you. And I’ll be here for you at every turn, so you won’t be alone. More significantly, though, this isn’t about being fully informed up front. It all comes down to having the willingness to develop, learn, and change things where they can most effectively.
Long after we hung up, her words continued to play in my head. I struggled with the notion for the following few days. Could I truly abandon everything I knew, including the city and my daily routine, for something so unknown? However, staying put felt equally impossible as rejection emails crept into my inbox and bills mounted.
At last, I decided that I would jump. It was better than drowning in self-pity, at the very least.
The air was warm and Clara was much warmer when I stepped off a plane in San Juan two weeks later. Her enthusiasm was contagious as she gave me a firm hug. She said in a whisper, “Welcome home.”
The first month was really demanding. It was both humiliating, draining, and thrilling to learn about grant bids, work with local officials, and overcome language obstacles. I was a part of something greater than myself for the first time in years; I wasn’t just chasing titles or checking boxes.
Then the unexpected turn of events occurred.
Clara revealed something shocking to us one evening when we were going over the blueprints for a new community center. “I’ve made the decision to resign as this project’s director, Nina. I want you to take over since I got a job abroad.
My mouth almost fell on the ground. “Are you serious? I’ve only been here a few months, Clara! I’m not competent—
She forcefully interrupted, “Yes, you are.” “You’ve shown yourselves already. You’ve improved our supply chain, gained the community’s trust, and contributed new ideas. This is your opportunity to take the lead.
Take the lead. I kept hearing the word. As someone who is actually bringing about change, not as a corporate cog. Someone whose choices affected people’s lives. Terrified yet ready to take on the challenge, I consented.
Under my direction, the initiative was a success. The community center developed into a center of activity, a place where children could feel comfortable, a place where adults could practice, and a representation of resiliency. Every day, I was reminded of why I had chosen this road by witnessing families flourish.
However, my parents’ visit six months later was the biggest surprise. They came with skepticism, expecting to find their daughter in some remote location, struggling. Rather, they saw directly how our work had an impact. My father drew me aside on their final evening together.
“You were correct,” he said sternly. “About putting passion ahead of safety.” You look happier than I’ve ever seen you in the last few days. Also proud.
My eyes filled with tears. It meant the world to get his approval.
In retrospect, losing my job marked the beginning rather than the end. It compelled me to face my anxieties, welcome ambiguity, and rediscover my calling. Even when it seems like everything is falling apart, life has a weird way of guiding us toward what we really need.
So, this is what I’ve learned: Our fears can occasionally lead to opportunities we were unaware of. Walk past them without fear. Have faith in yourself. Have faith in the process. And keep in mind that development frequently takes the form of loss.
Please tell this tale to anyone who might need a reminder that happy endings can result in wonderful beginnings if it spoke to you. Additionally, remember to use the “like” button—for creators like me, it means the world! 💛
