in 20

The following is the final assignment I wrote for my Leadership and General Management class. The prompt: describe your ideal career in three time horizons: after graduation, five years from that date, and twenty years from that date.

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September 3, 2018

It’s 7:55am and I’m hoping no one notices the slight wobble in my ankles supported precariously by the thin leather strap of my black stilettos as I command my crepe jumpsuit-clad knees to stop shaking. My stomach is doing what would be a familiar dance from that classic combination of nerves and excitement, but this time seems slightly different. Maybe it’s because I’m feeling a sense of permanence for the first time – at least for a little bit. Maybe stability is a better word.

“Yeah”, I think, nodding to myself, squaring my shoulders, and tilting my chin up to take in the high-ceilinged lobby of the glossy office I was about to spend – at the very least – the next year or so getting acquainted with, “Stability”. The word sounds foreign on my tongue. To be fair, the last five years were a whirlwind of running to hundreds of meetings for countless commitments (in an even more diverse variety of organizations), meeting people (so many people), travels (such wonders I’d had the fortune of seeing!), job applications (which I thank God I don’t have to think about again for a while), and, of course, learning. But the common thread there was uncertainty. My plans were always ambiguous. Everything was always up in the air. I took opportunities as they came up, and rarely said no to anything, leaving in my wake a stream of half-baked lease agreements and troves of “what-ifs”.

Now, I’m a fully graduated, employed adult. I giggle to myself, trying to quash the backflips my stomach decides to perform at that thought. Stability is going to be my new norm. When I finish my work days, I can go home, turn everything off, and do whatever I want. No nagging feeling of knowing you have homework to do. No lingering guilt at watching TV instead of studying. No pent up stress at the pile of cover letters still yet to be written. It doesn’t sound half bad.

Deep breaths, I step into the elevator, which I know how to use now after struggling for a good five minutes to figure out when I first came here for my interview three months ago. The trick is that you have to pre-select your floor from the touch-panel first, and head to the designated elevator that – anyways. My heart rate rises with the glass and metal box as I reach level eight. Here we go.

Rachel, beaming even brighter than the first time we met, greets me at the door of the conference room, where three people are already gathered around a polished wood and glass- topped table. The room is sleek and beautiful, with floor-to-ceiling windows letting the morning sun dance across the glass and dark wood fixtures in the room. An obligatory ficus tree stands in the corner bringing some light and life to the room. My jitters fade slightly and I drop my purse casually on the seat next to me as I join the others.

Instinctively, I size them up. Michael, whom I had met and made awkward small talk with while we waited for our interview, shoots me a grin and a thumbs-up. I return the smile and wave before turning my attention to a girl I’d never seen but whose nametag says “Jordan”. Her hair’s in the kind of perfect messy bun that suits her business casual ensemble but would look like I had just rolled out of bed on me. Dylan looks to be the most relaxed out of all of us, leaning back in his chair (Herman Miller Sayl, I note appreciatively, impressed that the office invests so heavily in both style and ergonomics) with an easy grin splashed across his broad face. As I gather my bearings, Amanda, whom I now remember I spotted in the elevator after my second interview, enters the room with a cheery “Hey!” and I like her immediately.

Rachel, who had been chatting with the four of us, looks up and smiles widely. Happiness practically oozes from her every pore, and I cannot help but bask the glow of its spillover. “Perfect,” she claps, “Everyone’s on time! We’re so excited to have you here.”

Our orientation lasts a week, during which we tour the office, meet our teams (I find out Amanda and I will be working together and joining a team of six, and the others are all splitting off to their respective roles), and get schooled on the philosophy of the company – the client experience always comes first. I’m blown away by the effort and dedication they put into this training program. The attention to detail is evident in everything from the design of the collateral (now meticulously tucked in the folders on our desks) to the order of presentations by subject and energy level. Any doubts I had about signing on with this company over my other supremely attractive offers have quickly faded; these are my people. By the time it’s over, our brains are filled to the brim and we’re antsy to get started. Friday, the five of us that onboarded together gather over beers at a local bar and celebrate.

Dylan lightly elbows me, “So, now that we’re out of rookie training, what are you most excited for?”

I chew thoughtfully on a fry before musing, “I dunno, everyone seems so nice and cool and smart, but obviously there are going to be ups and downs. I like that the job will be challenging, I love that we work cross-functionally. It’s comforting to know I’ll see you guys around even though we’re in completely different departments. And it’s so cool that the projects we’re working on are actually going to be impactful on a larger scale. Like, Amanda and I are presenting our research to the VPs in a month! That’s crazy! And meeting all the stakeholders and clients from all sorts of different industries – I think I’ll really have a lot to learn here. I just hope I have enough value to contribute. We’re all young, but they take us seriously already. What about you guys? What are you stoked for?”

January 3, 2023

It’s 3:00 and I pour myself a pint of 33 acres that Amber, our office manager, keeps stocked on tap. Settling cross-legged into a bold-hued beanbag chair, I prop my Macbook up on my lap and absent-mindedly pat the dog that’s nestled against my knees, nevermind the fact that he’s shedding long ginger hair all over my ripped jeans. I’ve just taken a short power-nap – God bless Amber for setting up those nap pods – and am ready to tackle this report. My team has done some solid work this month, and I’m gearing up for a presentation to the board tomorrow. If all goes well, this will be a game-changer for us.

My phone rings, and Stanley barks softly in sleepy protest. Sorry, boy, I think, scratching his ear.

“Hey Julio, what’s up?”

“Yuna! Hope you’re well. Just checking in to see how the prezzy prep is going so far. I’ve got a couple of things to check with you; I’m working from home today but I just pinged you.”

As he speaks, a notification slides over my screen. Got it. I spend the next few hours bent over my laptop, looking up only to wave at whoever walks by or petting whichever dog decides to come hang out. Stanley’s my favourite, though, and he lounges with me the whole time. Our team’s pretty small – we just made our 70th hire so I still know most of them by name. It’s easier to remember them since we’re always crossing paths with each other – perks of an open concept office. I like it this way because our office is full of brilliant minds, and I try to soak in (as if through the transitive powers of osmosis) as much of that brilliance as I possibly can while I’m here.

3:00. I head to the Forum for our monthly Town Hall, where everyone gathers to chat about the company-wide accomplishments and goals. The Forum is my favourite part of the office – wide, cosy, and completely representative of our company. It’s all pops of trendy colours mixed with rustic exposed brick and wood accents. “Hip”, as the kids called it back in the day. On the wrong side of 25, I’m pulling up the average age of the employees here slightly, but I’ve joined on just at the most exciting stage of our exponential growth.

Speaking of excitement, the CEO rolls in to thunderous applause. “Good afternoon!” she bellows, voice throaty and clear, “I am so excited to have you all here!” Cheers and more applause ensue and the energy is palpable. When the crowd settles down, presentations begin. Each department head talks about the milestones reached that month, and there are some thrilling announcements about what’s to come. I’m excited to share what my team’s been working on, but I’ll have to wait ‘til next month when we finalize the launch.

We’ve all been working so hard, and I’m excited to take the team out for drinks when it’s all done. My heart swells with pride as I think about how far we’ve come. The only constant here is change, and we have both driven and adapted to it. The thing I love most about working here, though, is that I actually like everyone enough to voluntarily choose to hang out with them even after office hours are over – which is saying something, because office hours are long and tough. There’s no set schedule, but we grind until the job is done. And then, we grind some more. It gets gruelling, and sometimes, I have to play pep talks in my head on a loop lest I forget what it is I’m working so hard towards. But at the end of the day, the work is rewarding and the team is tight. There’s rarely an hour that goes by unpunctuated with uproarious laughter – what can I say? We have fun. It helps that the office strategically designed to encourage socializing. Amber insists that the garbage bins are purposefully all located in the kitchen instead of near our desks to force us to actually stand up and walk around during the day. I suspect her motivation might stem from a reduced workload for her, but I don’t blame her – she’s busy enough already. Regardless, it works.

May 3, 2043

I shut the glass door to my office behind me and shrug off my blazer, relishing the fifteen minutes I’m about to spend alone before my next meeting. I look furtively around before kicking off my pointed-toe pumps under my white desk and wiggling my toes. My screen lights up as I lightly tap my keyboard. A handful of colourful sticky notes and a succulent – remnants from my startup days that I’d brought over to this life – pepper my desk and eggshell (not to be confused with ivory) white walls, and I tie up my hair and consider them.

“Follow-up”s, and “Reach out”s, and “To-do”s jump out at me, and I crumple one up from the meeting I was just coming back from to toss into the sleek wire bin across the room. Kobe. I pump my fists in victory and giggle. I adjust my screen to avoid the glare from my wide window, and start skimming my inbox, noting with intense satisfaction that I’ve managed to tick off all my email tasks for the day before noon. I spin around in my black leather chair to face my window. The view never ceases to take my breath away, even after five years. We’re on the fortieth floor and the skyline is almost as exquisite from here as it is from the planes I take more than monthly to travel to our global offices.

It’s been quite the journey to get here. I still remember the day I earned this corner office; I had spent more than my fair share of sleepless nights pushing away at this deal or that strategy, working towards my promotion. When the CEO personally called me to his office, I thought I was going to be chastised for having been caught asleep at my desk after the third all-nighter that week. Instead, he shook my hand, thanked me for my dedication, told me how inspired not only he, but the entire leadership team was by my accomplishments, and promoted me to a position that 20 years ago, I didn’t even dare to dream was within the realm of possibility. My body doesn’t bounce back from lack of sleep like it did in my 20s anymore. My bones are tired. But my mind is sharper than ever, and even still I can’t help but marvel at the trust my firm puts in me to lead us into continual growth and success. Over the years, I’ve locked up my imposter syndrome and beaten it into near submission. But every so often (obviously when I’m least suspecting it), those creeping tendrils of crippling insecurity start tightening their grip on my brain. My coping mechanism was to feign confidence so convincingly that I nearly fooled myself – until the work I put in to compensate for my own perceived incompetency eventually produced results I could genuinely be proud of.

My phone pings, cutting my silent reflection short, “Alert: Meeting Yuna <> Ada in five minutes”. I stride through the rows of cubicles and offices to a brightly lit meeting room. My gaze lingers on a Pollock, gifted to the office by a partner after a particularly gruelling – but very rewarding – deal, which looks right at home on the wall amidst the modern fixtures before settling on the young woman before me. Ada’s already there, with two branded paper cups on the table, notebook open, pen at the ready. I grin at her, “You spoil me! You didn’t have to get me -” I peer into my cup “- aw, matcha latte, you really shouldn’t have”.

“Oh it’s no trouble, Yuna, I needed a walk and I’m friends with the barista,” she winks.

Ada is bright. I met her at a networking brunch her university had invited me to make a keynote speech at, and took an instant liking to her sharp wit, insightful questions, and humble yet strong work ethic. This was our fourth time having coffee, but our first at the office.

“Well, Ada,” I ask, “How is everything? How are you settling in?”

“Oh gosh,” she gushes, “It’s been amazing. Everyone is so nice and so cool and so smart. I was so nervous when you suggested I apply, because I felt really underqualified. I still kind of do, to be honest. But I’m so excited. I have so much learning to do, and I guess, also maybe, hopefully, some contribution? I mean, I feel like I have some value to add here.”

She reminds me so much of someone that I have to laugh, “Stop. First of all, never sell yourself short. I wouldn’t have suggested it and you wouldn’t have gotten hired if you didn’t deserve it. If we’re paying you good money, we’re definitely expecting a return on that. But I’m so glad to hear you’re liking it so far.”

I think about Ada and the other three young women I’ve taken under my wing. I owe my success in large part to the mentors I had in my life – especially my strong female role models, and it warms me from the inside to be that figure for them. There’s so much potential and power in them, and I never want them to have to fight as hard as I did to be equal to my male peers. I don’t have children of my own – my career was always my priority – but my maternal instincts manifest here. These women deserve the world, and I’m going to help them achieve it.

Refreshed from our chat, I head back to my desk. I have reports to review and a big meeting on Monday – London this time, and I’m feeling good about it.