Sometimes, you just get lost. And that’s OK too.

Y’all know that Robert Frost poem, “The Road Not Taken” … right?

OK, you may not know the whole poem, per se, but you definitely have heard its signature line - “I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference” … or at least some other bastardization of this iconic phrase. We see it slapped onto motivational posters, overlaid on images of misty forests with diverging paths snaking off into different directions. We hear politicians and pastors, business leaders and motivational speakers quote it, or try to, as they do their best to stir a sense of motivation and desire among the crowds staring blankly back at them.

Choose your own path. You’ll be better for it.

It’s a nice sentiment.

Here’s the thing … what if it’s not about that at all? What if heading down that less traveled path wasn’t by choice, rather by accident? What if ‘ole Bob just got flat out lost, stumbling his way into a better life by sheer, random-ass chance?

Because, listen, if we’re going to be honest with ourselves, few if any of us are headed down a dark, untraversed roadway.

Not sure where it takes you? Uncertain about what’s around that curve over there? Yeah, probably better if I just take this other road over here. I’ve done it before and, look, everyone else is already using it. This is definitely the way.

Listen, I’m married to a CPA. By nature, our family has become risk-averse. So let’s buy a Honda Accord, follow everyone else and be on our way. It’s safer.

Unless, of course, you get lost.

Everyone has a dream job. It’s that job you’d do anything for. Maybe it’s a particular profession. Maybe it’s a company. Maybe it’s a place. Maybe it’s a lifestyle. Whatever it is, you hold it up in your mind as the thing that must be the most absolutely and utterly perfect way to live your life.

It’s our capitalist definition of blissful. Let’s make money and enjoy doing it!

So my wife and I would play that game while we were dating. What’s your dream job? Where do you want to live? Where do you want to work? As an accounting major, her dream jobs seemed to be incredibly unexciting to me (a perspective I’m actively reconsidering during our current economic calamity).

Me? To this day, I’d probably say that I have what I would deem two dream jobs, and they’re both company specific. And one of them has been firmly implanted in that “what do you want to be when you grow up” part of my brain since I was a kid.

And two years ago, I got a shot at that one. I mean a really good shot.

Went through several rounds of pretty in-depth phone interviews, did a fairly rigorous all-day, on-site interview and headed home feeling pretty good.

Really good in fact.

I didn’t know if I’d get the job, but I had made it all the way to the final two and given it as good of an effort as possible. Most importantly, I definitely felt like I could do the job and do it pretty well.

A week passed. Then another. No text messages from friends saying they had gotten a call for a reference. No emails that had mistakenly gone to a spam folder. Nothing.

It was in the third week that I got the phone call.

You’re a great candidate. … It was down to you and another candidate. … You made it a long way, and we were so impressed with you. … We did, however, choose another person for the job.

Now, I’m a decently emotional guy. No shame in it. I have no problem crying. I cry at movies and inspirational speeches and innocent family moments. 

I mean, shit, in “Endgame” when Captain America turned to face Thanos with that steely look in his eyes that said “we’re about to kick your ass you purple goon” and the Avengers finally freaking assembled in front of those crazy, spinning portal things, I sobbed from the intensity of the moment. And I mean sobbed. Like shoulder-lurching, body-shaking sobs as I tried to hide this from my 12-year-old lest I embarrass her in front of a theater full of strangers.

I cry because of joy. I cry because of love. I cry because of sadness. I cry because of pride.

But I hadn’t cried for me - because I had lost something - in a long time. And here I was, standing in my kitchen, with my wife hugging me, and I’m just crying over what I felt like I had lost, which, one might suggest, is a selfish way of looking at it. 

I never had it, so why did I feel like I had lost it.

You see, it wasn’t the job. It was the promise of the job.

A promise that I had built up in my mind since I was eight or nine years old.

A dream. And it was gone. Forever.

In the days and weeks that followed, I wasn’t mad. Hell, I wasn’t even really sad anymore. I was just … numb to it all. I was that close to something I had dreamed about since I was a kid, and I didn’t get it.

That’s it, right? That was my shot. There’s no second chance here. You gave it your best. It wasn’t enough.

I’m here to tell you that it takes a long time to get over that shit. And that’s if you do.

Now y’all must understand, it wasn’t like I was unhappy before this happened. I loved my job. Loved the people. Loved the work. Loved the clients. I loved it before, and I loved it afterward.

But … it was different because I was different. You don’t come so close to something like that, miss your shot and not be changed a little bit. You don’t get to hold your dream - I mean really take it in your hands and get a clear picture of what life could be like - only to wake up and realize that the dream was just that.

If I’m honest with myself now, I probably was dealing with some level of depression. And I want to be careful with using that word because I never saw anyone about it. Maybe I should have, but never did. And I want to be careful with using that word because I know countless people who have dealt with demonstrably worse bouts of depression that plague them their whole life and need intense, important counseling and therapy.

That wasn’t me. Me?

Like I said, I was just numb. 

I mean, what was next? Seriously. When you have pegged a large chunk of your professional goal-setting around a job that you never thought you’d even get a whisper of, and it falls through … then what?

Sorry Johnathan, that was a cool dream. But it ain’t happening. Enjoy being part of the machine. Welcome to 40 big guy.

I was sleepwalking through work, and I didn’t really even know it. Make no mistake, I was doing my best every day to help my clients, lead my teams and support my agency. If you know me,  you know I’m loyal to my people, and I’m going to do what I can do to help them out and make sure they succeed. 

But even though I was there, I wasn’t really there. What does it matter, right?

If nothing we do matters, all that matters is what we do. Overdramatic, sure, but after several months of numbness, something pushed me to stop simply moaning about the nothingness to “what’s next” and actually try and get an answer to the damn question.

So, I asked the guy who made the hiring decision at the dream job out for lunch.

Pretty fucking audacious, right?

Truth is, I had really liked the guy. Would have loved working for him and learning from him. I had started to rattle some ideas in my head around what was next for me, and I wanted to get his thoughts on them. Fortunately, he didn’t think it was weird that the guy he had passed over wanted to buy him lunch, so he agreed.

I told him that being a 40-year-old in an agency was challenging. And I wasn’t getting younger, didn’t have any sort of career track laid out for me and, at times, felt professionally behind so many of the younger, talented folks at our agency. I had started to evaluate what my strengths were, what I wanted to do and kicked around some ideas of how to go about pursuing them.

We chatted a bit about people to talk to, ideas to consider and a timeline for making a decision, but one moment in that conversation has remained with me.

He looked at me and said “Listen, you’re dynamic, and you can do whatever you put your mind to.”

I don’t know if I can put into some hastily strung together words how meaningful that sentiment was for me. It isn’t like I haven’t had good mentors at my work or a supportive family or engaged friends or a mother who literally does think I could do whatever I put my mind to no matter how absurd her definition of “whatever” is (because, you know, moms do what moms do).

It’s just that it felt like I hadn’t gotten that type of positive affirmation that I could succeed at something new, something different in a long time.

That what I wanted to do mattered. That I could (still) be something.

And when you’re coming from a place internally where you believe there’s nothing left for you to pursue or seek because it’s just not worth it anymore, that shit hits home. Hard.

It felt like I had been given new life. And I began to really think through what I could do, when I could do it and how I could get to the point of actually doing it. Now, let’s be clear, it wouldn’t have been for a while. I loved the people at my job, and I knew my time there hadn’t come to a close.

But, I knew something else was on the horizon. And that gave me some purpose.

Something happened along the way. The world got besieged by a pandemic. Lots of people got sick and died, and that’s still going on. Millions of people lost their jobs, and that’s still going on.

And, of course, I was one of those millions of people who lost their jobs.

I can’t say it was entirely unexpected. Sure, people liked me, and I was a good worker, but, as we’ve discussed, I probably hadn’t been entirely present for some time. When you have to make tough choices involving the lives of more than a hundred people and vitality of a company, sometimes those tough choices include a painful outcome.

The end was abrupt, and I was sad. Listen, I could have worked there until I retired, potentially unsatisfied by some of my professional pursuits, but absolutely rewarded by the goodness of the people there. Plus, let’s be honest, getting laid off in the middle of the worst economic downturn since the Great Depression is pretty freaking unnerving.

That said, I also was optimistic. I was at peace. That plan I had been mulling over? The one that I’d do a couple of years from now? No better time than the present they say.

I can’t sit here and tell you that not getting my dream job was the best thing that ever happened to me. I would have learned a ton from it. I would have loved it. I would have been good at it.

But I can tell you that I’m sitting here now, happier, more inspired and more hopeful than I’ve been in a long, long time. I didn’t get a new boss, but I added a friend and a mentor. I’m working for myself. I’ve picked up some clients. I’m writing again, which is what I truly love to do.

And all of that has happened because I didn’t get my dream job.

So, about that poem? Well, I got a little lost, and I definitely didn’t pick this path.

But I’m pretty excited about where it’s taking me.