The Job That Already Had One Foot Out The Door
I had a chat with a senior leader a few days ago. He didn't get blindsided. At that level, it rarely happens that way. It was a straight conversation, someone telling him plainly that the investment behind his team was getting pulled, and that it was time to think about what's next for him too. I expected to hear he was already deep into the search when we caught up. Instead he's been reconnecting with people he trusts, real conversations, not applications. What keeps coming up is wanting to build something again, to take on a project where he's creating, not just sitting in meetings and managing. Nothing decided yet. Just clarity on the kind of work he actually wants next. The Friction Nobody Names The conventional move after your ground shifts is to get back to stable footing fast. Same title, same paycheck, same shape of week. Comfort as the finish line. I understand the instinct. What I no longer buy is the assumption underneath it, that the job you're racing back to was ever actually stable. It wasn't. Job cuts this year are running close to triple the pace of the last few years, and most of the people who lost roles lost them in just the past twelve months. Here's the part that should bother you more than the cut itself. A large share of the companies that let people go citing AI are already quietly rehiring for the same roles. More than half of the leaders behind those decisions have said, on the record, that they regret making them. The people cutting you loose are reversing their own calls faster than you can finish updating a resume. The Tactical Solution What actually helps isn't sprinting back to an identical role. It's letting yourself run something small on the side, something you're fully willing to watch go to zero. People who respond to a career shock this way consistently report feeling steadier and less anxious than the ones racing to replace what they lost, even before the new thing makes a dollar. The people doing this well treat it like portfolio management, not romance. Run the bet for six weeks. Set the kill point before you start. If it isn't generating money, energy, or learning by then, close it. No ceremony, no story about failure. Just data. Treat the new thing like it's allowed to die. That's what makes it survivable to start. New to The Second Act? Start with 2Yr Anniversary Parting Advice Recap.