My college essay

The truth is, I don’t remember what I wrote for my Duke personal statement. But I know what I’d write today.

Here’s my essay for now. It’s not that different from the positioning we all do on our career journeys, and that you’ll do throughout your life. The idea is that it illustrates who I am, how I think, and what I believe.

Would you admit me?

Two weeks. That’s how long I had to sign on the dotted line and decide if I’d stay with this new iteration of my company, the place where I’d thrived for six years. The contract came with new owners, a big-firm culture, and a fancy new tagline: “A BigNYCPR company.” It also included a non-compete clause.

It was that part of the document that gave me pause. First, it was a requirement of my new employer, which worried me as the prior owner didn’t believe in limiting competition. See “big-firm culture” above. The second concern was how uncertain I felt about my new role. I’d loved working in the trenches with my 16-person team, guiding junior associates and partnering with clients who’d become friends. I wrote, strategized, and led impactful communications projects that made a measurable difference for the multi-national companies we served. It was meaningful work.

In the new gig, I’d be more focused on sales and new business, have less autonomy in managing my day-to-day, and be measured not by what I achieved for clients, but by how many new ones I brought in. It didn’t feel like me. Instead, I felt adrift.

Over my tenure, much of my personal network became part of my client network. Sign on the dotted line and I would have their sympathy in my unhappiness, but not their support if I left – not until the non-compete clause expired two years later. It was a huge gamble. How well could I trust my assessment of my new (potential) employer? If my gut feeling was right, would my situation be more dire because of the non-compete? Should I just give it a chance?

I spent the first half of the two weeks pondering what life on the other side of that document could be. I’m not sure anyone since John Hancock had considered a signature’s impact so thoroughly. I wondered if I was capable of quitting under these circumstances. I weighed the perils of near-immediate unemployment. I sought counsel from trusted colleagues. I cheered myself on, and I second-guessed myself. I maintained sleepless nights.

Eventually, my racing mind quieted and my thinking centered on a few thoughts: The long-term risks to my career and happiness seemed greater than the short-term ones. My professional reputation was strong and a foundation I could rely on. I had never settled for a job where I was unhappy and unfulfilled. In fact, it was what led me to this role six years earlier.

I meditated on how it might feel to leave later, without my network as a buoy. I had them now, a carefully cultivated and treasured group. They were worth the risk to keep. I was worth the risk to go.

I didn’t sign the non-compete, but I did sign my resignation letter. And, I added my signature to one more piece of paper: as founder of Modern English LLC. It was my own consulting firm, founded upon my trust in myself and my faith in my network.

It was the signature that made all the difference.