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Physical Address
304 North Cardinal St.
Dorchester Center, MA 02124
In January of this year, I was laid off.
I remember that moment vividly. It came via a zoom meeting with HR and my manager. A brief and polite message thanking me for my contributions and wishing me all the best in my future endeavors. It was entirely unexpected as I was hoping to continue working for the organization for the long term.
What followed was a strange mix of emotions: relief, anxiety, optimism, frustration. And then the job search began.
Between February and the end of May, I applied for nearly god knows how many jobs.
Only a handful of applications even led to interviews. A few more generated polite rejections. And the rest? Silence. Not even an auto-reply. Just… nothing. And that void of response starts to wear you down over time, making you question your qualifications, your value, even your self-worth.
In early April, I thought I had finally landed something. I went through a multi-stage interview process that actually felt promising. I connected with the hiring manager, had solid responses to their questions, and even provided references upon request. Anyone who’s been through this process knows that providing references is typically a good sign—it usually means you’re a finalist.
But then, just as I began to feel hope again, I received the dreaded phone call from HR: We’ve decided to offer the position to another candidate.”
I won’t lie—it took the wind out of me. Not because I thought it was guaranteed, but because it was the first time in months that something had felt real. I had started visualizing myself in the role, thinking about the daily commute, the people I might work with. It reminded me just how much this process can play tricks on your sense of stability.
While applying for jobs on my own I did work with multiple recruiters and most didn’t get me any interviews and for the most part they would always ghost me forever or return a few days later to let me know about another role. So by the start of May, I shifted gears and reached out to a recruiting company that I’ve worked with in the past that got me interviews within the same week.
After just a few days connecting with the new recruiting company, they matched me with a two client looking to fill a temporary role: a 6-month contract, with a possible 6-month extension and possible permanent status.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t a “dream job.” It wasn’t even permanent.
But it was something. And that meant everything at that point.
After a couple of quick interviews, some back-and-forth, both companies looked promising, but I wasn’t sure which company I would choose. I’ve worked at a few Bio-Tech companies, but they all got acquired, so that was something I need to keep in mind when deciding. The retail company was the safer option as everyone pretty much needs to buy groceries, so I was leaning towards that company.
In the end, I didn’t want to wait for both offers and told myself that I would pick the offer that comes first. Finally, I got the call from the recruiter that the Bio-Tech company passed on me and the retail company would like to offer me the role.
I was so happy to finally land a job, but my work wasn’t over just yet. I needed to provide references, pass a background check and a drug test before getting the offer letter.
Walking into the new job felt surreal.
You don’t realize how much the day-to-day structure of work shapes your identity until it’s gone—and then comes back. The morning routine, the meetings, the emails, even the commute—they ground you in something. After months of drifting through ambiguity, it was oddly comforting to know exactly where I needed to be and what I needed to do.
Yes, it’s a temporary role. Yes, the future is uncertain. But I am fully committed to giving it everything I’ve got. Temporary or not, it’s a chance to build, to grow, to network, to contribute. And frankly, after being out of work for five months, that’s more than enough.
This blog was originally built on the theme of being an “unemployed investor”—a paradox I both laughed at and lived through. There was a sort of ironic pride in embracing that identity: someone navigating the markets while being jobless, trying to make sense (and cents) of both the economy and their own direction.
But now, that identity feels a little blurred.
Does having a job disqualify me from the “unemployed investor” club? Maybe. Or maybe it just expands the scope of what this blog can be. Because let’s be honest—while the idea of being a full-time investor sounds great in theory, not everyone has the financial cushion to ride out an extended period of joblessness. I certainly didn’t.
Bills don’t stop. Rent doesn’t pause. And while unemployment benefits help, they don’t last forever.
So while I may no longer be technically “unemployed,” I still feel a kinship with those who are. I know what it’s like to send out application after application and hear nothing. I know how demoralizing it is to feel like you’re screaming into a digital void. I know the quiet panic of watching savings dwindle and time stretch on.
I’m not sure what the next 6 months will hold. Maybe this contract will lead to something more. Maybe I’ll be back on the job market in December. Maybe I’ll pivot completely again.
But for now, I’m choosing to focus on what’s right in front of me: a fresh opportunity, a return to structure, and a chance to contribute meaningfully again.
I’ll still be writing here, though maybe under a slightly different banner—The Reemployed Investor, perhaps?
Because even when the job status changes, the hustle doesn’t. Whether in the markets, in the workplace, or just in life, we’re all trying to navigate uncertainty and find our footing. And if my journey can help even one person feel a little less alone in theirs, then this blog still serves its purpose.
If you’re reading this and still searching, hang in there.
I know how hard it is. I know how heavy it can feel. But I also know that all it takes is one opportunity. One interview. One “yes.”
Keep going. You’re not alone.
And if you’ve just landed something, even if it’s not your ideal role, celebrate that win. Because every step forward is a step closer to stability—and possibly to something greater than you imagined.