(If you are new, the Start Here page is the best place to get oriented. It explains the Trail Markers and the larger journey behind this work.)
No drama. No blindsiding. Just a calendar invite, a polite tone, and a corporate script so polished it squeaked.
I used to joke that corporate life was just a long game of Survivor. Turns out, I wasn’t wrong. One day, I got the call—and just like that, I was voted off the island.
I stepped out of the restaurant and sat in the car. Elizabeth and Quinn stayed inside. I didn’t need to break the news—Elizabeth had lived this script before her accident. She knew. I just needed a minute to let the silence settle.
I spiraled through possibilities—franchises, side hustles, even dumpster ownership. Yes, really.
I applied. I interviewed. I networked. Hundreds of times. And still, I felt like a ghost in my own story.
I tried to stay optimistic. I tried to stay useful. But the truth? I’ve never felt so invisible.
Then came Chambliss.
It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t a comeback. It was a quiet pivot. A whispered “yes” to something that finally felt like mine.
Relief came first. Gratitude followed. But embarrassment lingered like a shadow I couldn’t shake. I’d gone from leading teams to wondering if I was still worth hiring. From comfortably in six figures to just barely there now, something far less—but with meaning stitched into every hour.
I was proud. Not just of the work, but of the way it stitched me back into the fabric of a place I’d lived in but never quite belonged to.
The scoreboard was always humming in the background. Not literal, but loud. Salary. Status. Scope. The holy trinity of corporate worth.
But I’m learning to tune it out.
Chambliss wasn’t a detour. It was a recalibration. A chance to build culture, not just chase metrics. A chance to matter.
I write now. Not to vent. Not to impress. But to connect. To say, “You’re not alone,” without needing to shout it.
This wasn’t the blueprint. But it’s the life I’m sketching in pencil—smudged, imperfect, and mine.
By Eric K.