It begins with a story…

Being the descendant of war refugees, I learned the importance of hard work that comes from the need to assimilate to a foreign culture. Nothing worthwhile came without suffering. Everything I had in life I had to be grateful for, even if it brought with it a lot of pain.

Through my parents I learned that love came through achievement. As a young girl, I had to get perfect grades, have perfect attendance, and be successful at everything that I did. I had to receive constant accolades and awards.

But what I really wanted to be was one of those mystical creatures that I read about in the many fantasy books I would lose myself in. Sometimes I even imagined being one with the wind as I raced around my backyard.

I became the perfect over-achiever: saying yes to every challenge, being prepared for every obstacle, pushing myself just as hard as my parents and society demanded. I worked to be the shining beacon of success in my lifetime that my family could be proud of.

My family placed a huge emphasis on money. One couldn't be considered successful if they didn’t have money. I was provided three acceptable career options: become a doctor, a lawyer, or an engineer.

I ended up in a career in software engineering. Being an expert problem solver, coding came easily to me. Being a woman in a male-dominated profession meant I had to double my efforts beyond what others did to be noticed, to be decorated, to be advanced in this career path. Nine hour days became 10. Ten hour days became 12. Twelve hour days became 14. I arrived in the office before anyone and I left after everyone. I worked weekends and vacations.

I did not know rest. I did not know joy. All I knew is that pain and suffering are required to succeed.

So I’m on a plane flying home, burned out, tired, full of pain and suffering, questioning: “What the hell is all this for?”

Apparently not much, because soon after a corporate accountant looked at a list of names and decided that I was essential to their cost-saving agenda. I was handed notice that my position had been eliminated.

I cried.

And then I laughed.

I mourned the loss of the job I worked so hard and sacrificed so much to keep. I laughed because it wasn’t enough to keep my position.