Professional Rejection Collector

Let’s be honest: none of us put “Professional Rejection Collector” or “Certified Ghosting Survivor” in our five-year plan.

I mean, five years ago, we were convinced we’d be running the show by now — corner office, personal assistant named Chad who brings us overpriced matcha lattes, and LinkedIn updates that casually say things like “Honored to keynote at Davos this year.”

Instead, here we are, perfecting the art of refreshing our inbox every 4.7 seconds like we’re waiting for an ex to text back.

We thought we’d be building empires. Instead, we’re building elaborate Excel trackers for job applications with color-coded rejection columns that would make even NASA weep.

We thought we’d be making power moves in boardrooms. Instead, we’re making power moves from the couch to the fridge and calling it “networking.”

We’ve become experts at decoding HR language:

• “We’re moving in a different direction” = We chose Chad’s nephew.

• “We’re looking for a culture fit” = We want someone who will laugh at Ted’s terrible jokes in the break room.

• “You’re overqualified” = You might ask for a living wage and we’re scared.

Let’s not forget the fun assignments. You know, the ones where they ask you to build a 90-day business plan, write a marketing strategy for a product you’ve never heard of, or create a new logo for their brand — all before the second interview. Free labor disguised as “seeing how you think.”

And you do it. Because you’re hopeful. You stay up all night, fuelled by caffeine and delusion, pouring your soul into a Google Slides presentation titled “Revolutionizing Synergy: A Comprehensive Vision.” You hit send and wait… only to get ghosted so hard you start checking missing persons websites.

Meanwhile, your friends from college are posting, “After a short break to backpack across Europe and find myself, I’m thrilled to announce I’ve been named VP of Vibes at a startup with unlimited PTO and a nap room.”

You sit there in your sweatpants, eating leftover pizza rolls, wondering if you should pivot to beekeeping or open a crystal shop in Sedona.

Then you tell yourself, “Tomorrow. Tomorrow is my day. Tomorrow I will manifest a recruiter who isn’t on vacation for the next three weeks.”

But here’s the plot twist: you’re still here. You’re still showing up, laughing through the absurdity, collecting rejection emails like rare Pokémon cards, and somehow — somehow — your spirit hasn’t completely flatlined.

Because while you didn’t plan on becoming the Michael Jordan of “Thank you for your interest” emails, you’ve also become something else: unstoppable.

So if today you’re staring at your inbox like it owes you money, take a breath. Then laugh. Because when you do land that job (and you will), you’ll walk in with the resilience of a superhero and the comedic timing of a late-night host.

You didn’t sign up for this chapter. But one day, it’s going to be the best part of your story.

Keep going, legend. The world has no idea what’s coming.