The One Question That Made Me Quit My Job

And the moment I chose my next chapter

Image by Anastasia Shuraeva

We were sitting in a small conference room in our Corporate headquarters.
One of those you have to book weeks in advance for a chance to have an efficient conversation.

I had just closed my laptop. She began:

“So I wanted to let you know that you will not be advancing to the next round of interviews.”

I was surprised.
Partially by the delivery — she was my HR business partner.
Partially due to the timing — I had just spent the last hour brainstorming content for a large leadership event.
Lastly, by the outcome.

I was quiet. She continued.

She shared I did well in the panel interview in which she participated.
A different panel interviewer said I struggled answering a question around my personal brand.
(This will be a forthcoming Substack piece.)

I nodded my head.

The years of being in sales taught me the power of pregnant pauses.

I could tell she was more emotional than I was.
She wanted to break my silence.

“We value you as an employee. One thing you haven’t been able to tell us is: what is the role after this for you?”

I nodded again.
Took a breath.

“Fair question. Thank you for your time. I was not expecting this conversation. May I reach out to you later for any questions regarding feedback?”

She said, “Of course.”

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The Question That Haunted Me

Truth be told, I didn’t want that job.

I had been in a comparable role in another organization over a decade prior.

I only applied because the organization had said they would be doing some reorganization, and the role I was in at the time would report to that position.

I knew I was capable.
Countless others had asked me to apply.

And I liked the impact my current role was delivering to the organization.
An additional organizational layer would introduce even more bureaucracy than I already had to navigate.

I knew the other candidates really wanted that job.

But her question haunted me:

What was a job after that one in the organization that I would actually want?

If someone asked you this today, would your answer open a door? Or close one?

For the next two weeks, I did my job as I always did.

Silently replaying that conversation.

That stark white conference room.

That blue LED lighting.

That question.

The answer.

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The First Time I Imagined Another Life

I am a shitty vacationer.
Always have been.
Likely always will be.

Unluckily, I married someone with the same affliction.

We were always on the brink of burnout.

In August of 2016, I told my husband, “Let’s get away. We need at least a long weekend.”

Vegas was always fun. Cheap flights. Low stakes. Incredible food.

But when booking, something told me to veer slightly north of the Strip.

Sedona had been popping up in my field.

A friend described it as an affluent hippy colony.

For some reason, that sounded more alluring.

I joked to my husband: “Maybe we go to Vegas for a retox and then to Sedona to detox.”

He conceded.

We splurged and stayed at a spa resort.

Somewhere between chakra-balancing massages, pink jeep tours whipping through dusty red terrain, and a little 60-page book I found in a mystic shop, it was like I found myself again.

When we returned to Seattle, I felt completely reborn.

I asked my husband, “Wouldn’t it be awesome if one day I could just work from home? Maybe coach clients from here?”

He said, “Yeah, sure.”

We wiped the red dirt off my clothes and returned to the daily grind.

I didn’t mention it again until six years later.

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Corporate Machinery and the Cost of Staying

The truth is I have had several career coaches throughout my life.

I have taken every diagnostic you can imagine: Myers-Briggs, Hogan, Clifton, Personalysis, Fascinate, even Enneagram.

The results all came back the same:

“You should be an independent consultant.”

My heart needs to connect deeply. My brain needs to innovate.

In a corporate environment with a non-stop stream of KPIs, performance reviews, and never-ending calls that should have been an email?

Both my heart and brain were atrophying.

At one point, I was told to put five people on performance improvement plans. Five. At the same time.

I told my husband, “I feel like the wicked witch of the Northwest.”

The emotional strain on the employee during that process is unimaginable.
But the emotional strain on a manager? No one talks about it.

Why?

Corporations require middle management machinery — and they’ll make you believe you’re the machine.

In your current role, how much of your time is spent keeping the company lights on versus lighting yourself up?

Smile to the customers.
Ensure you’re using the marketing-approved font.
Read the talking points.
Meet the next deadline.
Rinse. Repeat.

So the irony of not getting to the next round for a job I didn’t want in the first place — and then being asked “What is the job after this?” —

I didn’t take it as rejection.

It was a flashpoint.

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The Monday I Chose Myself

Most people resign on a Friday.

I sent my resignation by email two weeks later. On a Monday.

No drama. No big conversation. Just a subject line, a short message, and the click of “send.”

Something about Monday felt more declarative. More decisive. More sober.

But also, I didn’t want to chicken out.

For many years, I loved working for corporate.

I learned so much. About business. About people. About myself.

Although the corporate experience had been good to me, it wasn’t built for me.

And it was my time to build something.
Not for myself.
But for others.

I gave the organization four weeks’ notice to wrap up projects and hand off cleanly.

The same HR business partner would later ask what sparked my decision.

I told her it was her question to me about my next role.

She said, “What do you want the role after next to be? Maybe we can help.”

I smiled. Then answered, “I want to write a book. I don’t think I can do that here.”

She understood.

Then I closed my laptop, and the next chapter began.

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An Illusory Ladder

Climbing the corporate ladder is a universal metaphor.

And it is an incredibly powerful one.

One that fuels multiple industries: Business journals. Human resources. Commercial real estate. Hospitality. Food Service. Fashion & Retail. Yes, and coaches like me.

But here is the truth. The corporate ladder is an illusion.

And what no one tells you: You have always had your own.

You have the ability to choose your elevation. Your steps. Your pace.

I chose to move my ladder to a different horizon line.

It may be steeper.

But, boy, will I enjoy the view once I get there.

Why?

Because, turns out, I am not a machine.

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Three ways to know the ladder you’re climbing isn’t yours:

1. A “next step” feels like a heavier version of your current role.

2. You spend more energy navigating bureaucracy than making impact.

3. You can’t name a role after this one that excites you.

If even one of these hits, the real question is: whose horizon are you climbing toward?

We all have that one question that can make the ladder we’re on feel wrong in an instant.

If you were asked yours today — would you have an answer you’d be proud to give?

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If that question — “What’s the role after this?” — made you pause, you’re not alone.

Inside The Vault, you’ll find THE AUDIT: The Role After This — a guided reflection to help you see whether the ladder you’re on is worth climbing .

You don’t need to wait for someone else to ask. You can start now.