After two and half years, two jobs and living 3,000 miles away from my family on 9/11, I moved back to Michigan. Driving across the country in my Mustang I wasn’t sad to be leaving Silicon Valley. At all.
Upon returning, I took a job with ePrize as a Project Manager. There were 23 people in the company, more than 3/4 of us sat in one room and we met around one table every Friday to openly discuss the business. I loved it.
We were a tight knit team, fighting against the world, slowly winning with every launch of a promotion. There was only one problem: I was never going to be an extraordinary project manager. Creating and proofing hundreds of spec pages just wasn’t my thing. I spelled the COO’s name wrong on my first document.
My work started to get better, but after about a year I knew it was going to be difficult for me to be anything better than a B+. Then the following email appeared in my inbox.
To: Alesya Opelt<email@example.com>
From: Josh Linkner<firstname.lastname@example.org>
Hi. Could you come by my office? Thanks.
CRAP. Panic ensued. What had I done? I rarely talked to Josh let alone had a reason to go to his office. This couldn’t be good.