Experience NOT Necessary: Restructured by AI

WTF HAPPENED?

A month ago, after 28 years as an executive at the same company, I got restructured and forced to "retire". That’s corporate for: “AI can do your job, thanks for your loyalty, now please disappear quietly.”

Is it just me, or does “restructure” mean “you cost too much money”?

In that moment—decades of late nights, PowerPoints, and emails I prioritized over actual life—got boiled down to a single Zoom meeting and a polite “don’t let the door hit you.”

WTF. Me? Really?
Apparently, my experience is no longer necessary.

If you’ve ever stared at the ceiling at 3 AM wondering “who am I without my job?” — welcome to the club.

PLOT TWIST I DIDN'T EXPECT

RELIEF.
For years, I’d felt this low-level frustration humming in the background—like static you learn to tune out.

I could recite KPIs, hit goals, lead teams—but when was the last time I felt energized instead of just busy?

A quiet voice whispered, “Thank God they did this, because you never would’ve left on your own.”

Who Am I Without My Business Card?

For almost three decades, “I work at XYZ Company” was my default answer to everything. That wasn’t just my job—it was who I was.

Without it, I found myself asking questions I hadn’t considered in years. Was that really me? Or just the role I played because it was comfortable and I was good at it?

Here’s the contradiction I can’t unsee: I spent years coaching others to “make a change if you’re not happy,” while I stayed put.
I became the HYPOCRITE.

I’d been waiting for something magical to appear instead of making any move myself.

ADVICE AVALANCHE

The minute you lose your job, everyone becomes a life coach.

“Reinvent yourself in five steps!”
“Transform your life for $19 a month!”
“You got this, girlfriend!”

My favorite: “Get therapy! Then get a Job!”

Apparently, there’s a blueprint for starting over that works for everyone — except me. I didn’t want a five-step plan. I wanted a moment to think.

So while the world pushed “transformation,” I decided to just… pause.

MY EXPERIMENTS BEGIN

I bought an InstaPot. It sits on my counter like a monument to optimism. We’re still negotiating that promise.

Confession: my specialty is making reservations. Food samples at Costco count as a meal (and yes, I go with my sister mostly out of curiosity).

When a recipe starts with “preheat oven,” I immediately panic — mostly because I need to move my shoes out of there first.

I downloaded a plant app because my sister’s usual greeting is, “JT, you killed this one too?” She’s not wrong. Five plants. Three months. 100% casualty rate.

And then I started writing.

Not because I had answers — but because writing is how I process. Because every masterclass talks about success stories, but nobody talks about the messy middle — the part where you’re still figuring out who the hell you are now.

PROGRESS REPORT: NOT TRANSFORMATIONAL

My InstaPot? It’s out of the box, still wrapped in plastic, waiting for a culinary emergency that hasn’t happened.

My plants? Still dead. Not “revived” or “thriving in indirect sunlight.”
Just dead.
My sister-in-law is planning an intervention.

But here’s the thing: sometimes progress looks like staring at a wrapped appliance and googling “how to tell if your plant is actually dead” at 3 AM.

And instead of pretending I’m becoming a gourmet chef or plant whisperer, I’m admitting what nobody posts — sometimes your biggest move is unboxing something and letting it become expensive kitchen decor.

This writing? It turned into this blog — my space to figure it out, one imperfect step at a time.

Maybe the goal isn’t to rush into “reinvention.”

Maybe it’s to pause long enough to notice what’s next — without pretending you’ve got it all figured out.

YOUR MOVE?

If you’re also in that in-between wondering who you are now, pull up a chair.

I’ll be here every Sunday, with my dead plants, unused appliances, and too many thoughts.

Because progress doesn’t always look pretty. Sometimes it looks like unboxing an InstaPot and calling that a win.

If anyone’s got life hacks for unused appliances and dead plants, send help.

Next Week: Stalling in Plain Sight — Why Planning Isn’t Progress

P.S. If a friend sent this to you and you thought “that’s me,” pull up a chair every Sunday by subscribing.
P.P.S. If someone popped into your head while you were reading, forward this her way.