Dear Diary,

I used to think I was ALL THAT. I used to feel wanted. Executive recruiters would call me two to three times a day. They emailed, they sent texts, they left voice mails.  I emailed some back, but mostly not. I was too busy. Then one day they stopped. That was the day I needed them. I had left my job to find happiness at another place. Suddenly all of my exceptional qualities became wisps of smoke curling toward oblivion. Huh? I looked in the mirror. 

I was still me.

Dear Diary,

I thought I knew how to do my job. I had raised millions of dollars. But the recruiter told me that I didn’t have enough experience in the particular niche of the specific area for the specific demographic at this specific time. I was stumped. How did I manage to support myself through college by selling shoes, cosmetics, nutritional supplements, and pets? 

What niche was that?

Dear Diary,

I wrote a killer letter today about my qualifications. It got me a call from a high-end recruiter. He asked me about scale. Uh oh. I had raised too much money with too few staff. Why hadn’t I raised less money with more staff? 

What’s wrong with me?

Dear Diary,

I went to an interview today.  When I walked in, the search committee was arguing about branding. I listened while they flexed their personalities with forced laughter. They asked me my opinion. 

Is there a manual for this kind of set-up? 

Dear Diary,

I told a hiring manager that I needed more time to make a decision about going to the next step in the hiring process. I thought I was being reasonable but guess not. This wasn’t received well. 

Why do donors get years to make decisions and fundraisers get a few dates before they’re asked to become engaged—-so to speak? 

Dear Diary,

I spent an hour and a half on a conference call listening to all of the responsibilities the “lucky person in this role” would carry out. The job crossed seven functional divisions, had nine direct reports, and a part-time assistant. I asked how long the position had been open. 

Three years.

Dear Diary,

I took the morning off from writing, reaching out, having coffee or breakfast and following up with people who could help me. By 11:30, I was panicked. I wasn’t giving it my all. I was sure to fail.

Or at least miss something.

Dear Diary,

I got a job. Someone who knew someone who needed someone like me took me in. I’ve been here two months. I am now an expert in this new niche. The calls are coming in daily from recruiters. I am being hailed as a change agent. I have been told I’m the kind of person who questions existing systems. Who knew?   

I look in the mirror. I’m still me.