At that point, I’d been unemployed for seven months. I wasn’t on a “sabbatical” or “figuring things out.” I was trying to survive. I sold furniture online. Ignored bill collectors. My previous job had ended abruptly when my company shut down. No warning. No severance. Just a final paycheck and an empty office.
That interview was one of six that week. And with each rejection, I questioned everything—my skills, my future, my worth.
But then something unexpected happened.
The next morning, a small startup I barely remembered applying to called me. They wanted to interview for a position called “Client Experience Liaison.” I didn’t even know what it meant—but I said yes.
I wore the same fraying suit. When I walked into their converted warehouse space, it was nothing like the offices I’d known. Bright murals, dogs roaming around, people in jeans. The founder, Charita, greeted me herself.
She didn’t ask me to sell anything.
Instead, she asked, “What would you do if a customer called upset at 10 p.m. because their order never arrived?”
I replied, “I’d listen first. Then I’d fix it. People want to be heard before they want to be helped.”
She nodded. I was offered a 60-day contract at $23/hour.
It wasn’t glamorous. But it was hope.
I started the next Monday. It wasn’t easy. My anxiety didn’t vanish, and neither did the bills. But slowly, I found my rhythm again. I stayed late. Fixed their clunky help desk. Helped interns. Even organized a potluck.
Then one night, Charita asked for help preparing a pitch for investors. She was nervous, fumbling. I told her, “Forget the slides. Tell me what you’re solving, and why it matters.” We stayed up reviewing every word.
She nailed the pitch.
When my 60 days were up, I expected a goodbye. Instead, she handed me a full-time offer—with benefits and better pay. She had written in the margin, “Thank you for helping me write the next chapter.”
I nearly cried.
Six months later, I became Head of Client Strategy. I hired others like me—people who’d been overlooked, discouraged, or dismissed. One of them, Marwan, told me he’d been turned down by 22 companies. I said, “I’ve been there. You belong here.”
We built a team culture centered on empathy and listening. For the holidays, we gave everyone mugs that said, “Life sells the pen.”
Then one day, I got a message on LinkedIn—from one of the interviewers at that failed pen interview. He said my answer stuck with him. The company had been shutting down at the time, but they were told to keep interviewing people anyway, just to maintain appearances. He’d since left and launched his own consultancy—and wanted my advice for a client.
Me.
The guy who used to rehearse elevator pitches in a bathroom mirror was now being sought out for insight.
That single project turned into a string of referrals. Eventually, I was invited to speak at a business summit. I wore sneakers and a denim jacket. I opened with the pen story.
The audience laughed. Some even got emotional. Because they knew.
We’ve all been there—doubting ourselves, wondering if anyone sees our worth. But here’s what I’ve learned: every rejection isn’t the end. Sometimes, it’s just a redirection.
Your story—the one you think no one wants to hear—might be exactly what someone else needs to rise.
Just last week, I welcomed a nervous college grad onto our team. After a meeting, I saw him sitting alone, fidgeting.
“I don’t think I belong here,” he said quietly. “Everyone’s so experienced. I don’t want to screw up.”
I smiled and said, “Let me tell you about a pen.”
What did this story spark in you?
Have you ever faced a moment where you almost gave up… but something unexpected changed the path? Share your story in the comments—and if someone you know needs this reminder, send it their way. Because the moment might not sell the pen—but it could inspire a new chapter.