Monster Truck

“Write about someone who realizes they’re on the wrong path,” you say? Well, can do. I’m on my second day of leave from work. I’m on a leave that I desperately needed because I was clearly on The Wrong Path. 

I was pretty sure it was the wrong path when I headed down this way about six months ago. I was at the proverbial fork in the road, but The Right Path had a big roadblock up and the CEO of my organization was wearing a reflective vest and waving light-up orange sticks directing me this way. Unless I wanted to back up and find some kind of ax or monster truck to bash my way through the roadblock and continue down The Right Path, it wasn’t exactly available.

About three months earlier, my good friend, colleague, and former mentor at the organization had committed suicide. In doing so he had widowed the CEO (yep, the one with the reflective vest) and left a gaping hole at the organization that I apparently appeared uniquely suited to fill. It’s not entirely crazy to think I was suited for the gig; our teams overlapped in expertise and I was an experienced and trusted entity to the org. Either that or I was the closest blanket to the fire that needed to be put out ASAP. 

John had been the director of one of the organization’s research groups, and I had been a scientist in that same group. After a few years of working under his direction, I had branched off to start my own research group at the same organization. I had been happy in that role. My group was growing, slowly and manageably, while I also learned about myself and what kind of work environment suited me. The pandemic helped. Turns out I like a smaller crew, a slower pace, and time to think. Too many people, too many surprises, and quick deadlines were not my style. In fact, they led to panic and resentment. Turns out I am a Highly Sensitive Person. Nevermind that I have a PhD in Psychology yet had not heard that term until a few years ago, it certainly seemed to suit me.  

I also liked my role because I had John for advice and the inside view. He had been a unique friend-mentor since I met him almost two decades ago and I knew I was one of his favorite people as well. A couple of summers ago he texted, “I’m sitting on the deck drinking a beer and feeling grateful for you — one of the few people I consider a close friend. Glad to have you in my life.” Cheers emoji. A good friend.

Back to that fork in the road, two months after John’s suicide. Despite the voice in my head telling me I did not want this, I agreed to take on John’s team and direct both research groups. I agreed to help his staff move through their loss, continue their science, and try to generate a vision in which the two research groups synergized in a way that somehow meant that I wasn’t filling two people’s jobs but one. I responded to my pride and the maternal-like call to move in and protect his team, his work. And I did move in; I moved into his office even. I picked up the threads he had left with colleagues around the world telling them, “Don’t worry, we’ll carry on his great work.” I responded to emails that would have been sent to him, attended meetings intended for him, and tried to comfort and calm all those around me for their sake and my own. 

And then I tried to find that balance, that healthy space, that I had learned helped me thrive. I tried to nurture my sensitive self and work the perfect hybrid combo, running an organized home life, spending quality time being present with my two young girls, getting enough sleep, enjoying walks in nature and meditating… oh, while being a kick-ass leader helping people heal, illuminating a way forward that kept John’s treasured legacy alive, not to mention my own research group that had just started to shake the landscape of our field in a fantastic way. Of course I couldn’t! Find that balance, that is. I wouldn’t say I crashed, exactly. It was more like I stumbled down The Wrong Path week after week with tears hidden from all but my closest people until I realized that the journey from where I was to where I needed to be was too far for me to travel.

The toughest conversation required to reroute me off the Wrong Path was with John’s CEO widow. I did not want to disappoint her and leave her husband’s work up in the air for someone else to take charge of. I did not want to tell her that I simply didn’t want to work this hard. With the tell-tale pressure of sentences that start with “I don’t want to pressure you, but…” she encouraged me to reconsider. She asked whether she could help me with my grief. She asked whether we could avoid letting John ruin this opportunity for me in the way that he had left so much other ruin in the wake of his suicide. I sat in his former office and held strong, looking ahead to an opportunity to return to my path and start to heal. After a month of leave, I’ll return to my former role.

Looking back, I can see at least two versions of what happened over the last six months. Either I stepped up when the organization needed me to help with an impossible situation, or I said yes to something when I knew the chances of failing were high. In either case, it was the Wrong Path to continue down and I’m changing course now, seeking ways to nurture my sensitive self and say goodbye to my friend. And I’ll be returning to work with a monster truck.