The Best Summer After a Layoff
The Best Summer After a Layoff: How I Turned a Setback Into Transformation
Photo by Kalen Emsley on Unsplash
On May 31, 2025, my professional world came to a halt. I was laid off. The news landed like a punch to the gut—sudden, disorienting, and impossible to ignore. After years of building, shipping, and growing in my role, I was suddenly without a job, without a team, without the daily structure that had defined my life.
But what could have been a period of uncertainty turned into the most transformative summer of my life. Instead of letting the setback define me, I decided to redefine myself.
The First Week: Processing the Shock
The first few days after a layoff are strange. There’s relief mixed with anxiety, freedom mixed with fear. I woke up on that first Monday with nowhere to be, no Slack messages demanding attention, no meetings on the calendar. The silence was deafening.
I gave myself permission to feel whatever I was feeling. Anger at the circumstances. Sadness at leaving colleagues who had become friends. Worry about what came next. These emotions needed space, and I let them have it.
But I also made a decision: I would not let this summer be defined by job searching and anxiety. I had been given an unexpected gift time and I was going to use it intentionally. The job market would still be there in the fall. This summer was mine.
Reclaiming My Health: 21 Pounds in 80 Days
The first order of business was my health. Years of desk work, stress eating, and inconsistent exercise had taken their toll. I was carrying weight I didn’t need, both physically and mentally.
I shed 21 pounds in 80 days, feeling lighter and more energized than I had in years. This wasn’t a crash diet or an extreme regimen—it was a return to basics. I ran every day, sometimes twice. I cooked real food instead of ordering delivery. I slept eight hours instead of six.
The transformation was remarkable. Not just the number on the scale, but how I felt. My mind was clearer. My energy was higher. My mood was more stable. I had forgotten what it felt like to be truly healthy, and rediscovering it was revelatory.
The Running Habit
Running became my anchor. Every day, I laced up my shoes and hit the trails near my home. Some days it was a quick 5K to clear my head. Other days it was a long, slow effort through the mountains. The consistency mattered more than the distance.
Running gave me structure. It gave me accomplishment when I felt adrift. It gave me time alone with my thoughts. By the end of the summer, I was in the best shape of my life—and I had the mental clarity to match.
Into the Mountains: The Pacific Northwest Calls
That newfound energy propelled me into the wild heart of the Pacific Northwest. The mountains were calling, and I plunged headfirst into their embrace.
Lake Mason: Discovering Backpacking
I discovered a love for backpacking on a challenging trek to Lake Mason. This wasn’t a casual day hike—it was a multi-day adventure that tested my limits. Heavy pack, steep trails, unpredictable weather. I learned to set up camp, filter water, cook over a tiny stove, and sleep under stars so bright they seemed impossible.
There’s something profound about being miles from the nearest road, carrying everything you need on your back. The simplicity is clarifying. Your concerns narrow to the immediate: the next step, the next meal, the next campsite. The noise of normal life—the emails, the notifications, the endless demands—fades to nothing.
I emerged from that trip changed. Not in some dramatic, movie-montage way, but in a quiet, fundamental way. I had proven to myself that I could do hard things. That I could be uncomfortable and survive. That I didn’t need the trappings of modern life to be okay.
Lake Crescent: Soul-Cleansing Swims
I stood at the edge of Lake Crescent, the water a brilliant, impossible blue, before taking a soul-cleansing swim. The lake is one of the clearest in the country, fed by snowmelt and rain, cold enough to take your breath away. After placing third in my first 30 mile / 50k trail race. So liberating.
Swimming in that water was a baptism of sorts. The cold shocked my system, forced me fully into the present moment. There was no room for worry about the future or regret about the past—only the immediate sensation of being alive.
The Snoqualmie 7: Old Friends
I even made a pilgrimage back to the Snoqualmie 7, the peaks that feel like old friends. These are the mountains I’ve climbed dozens of times, in every season, in every mood. They know me, and I know them.
Returning to familiar trails during a time of transition was grounding. The mountains don’t care about your job status or your career trajectory. They just are. Standing on a summit I’d stood on many times before, I felt a continuity that transcended the disruption in my professional life. Some things endure.
The Open Road: A Cross-Country Adventure
But this summer wasn’t just about conquering mountains; it was about broadening my horizons. I hit the open road for a cross-country adventure, weaving through the American South.
Nashville: Music and Energy
The music-filled streets of Nashville were intoxicating. Live music poured out of every honky-tonk on Broadway. I ate hot chicken that made my eyes water and drank sweet tea on patios while strangers became friends. The city’s energy was infectious—everyone seemed to be chasing a dream, and that optimism was contagious.
Asheville: Art and Mountains
A detour to the artsy haven of Asheville reminded me that creativity takes many forms. The town is nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, surrounded by craft breweries and artist studios. I wandered through galleries, hiked to waterfalls, and had conversations with people who had chosen unconventional paths. Their stories expanded my sense of what was possible.
Richmond: History and Reflection
The historic charm of Richmond provided space for reflection. Walking through neighborhoods that had witnessed centuries of American history, I thought about my own small place in the larger story. Career setbacks feel enormous when you’re in them, but they’re just moments in a longer arc. This too shall pass.
Testing Limits: The 50K Ultra-Marathon
I tested the limits of my endurance, lacing up my shoes to run my first-ever 50k ultra-marathon—a grueling but exhilarating test of will.
Why an Ultra?
People asked why I would choose to run 31 miles through mountains during a summer that was supposed to be about recovery. The answer is simple: I needed to prove something to myself. Not to anyone else—to myself.
A layoff can shake your confidence in ways that are hard to articulate. You start to wonder if you’re as capable as you thought. If your success was luck rather than skill. If you have what it takes to succeed again.
Running an ultra was my answer to those doubts. It was a challenge I chose, a goal I set, a test I designed. And when I crossed that finish line—exhausted, blistered, and happier than I’d been in months—I knew I could do hard things. Not just in running, but in everything.
The Race Itself
The race was brutal. Miles 20-25 were a dark place, where every step hurt and quitting seemed reasonable. But I kept moving, one foot in front of the other, until the finish line appeared.
The lesson wasn’t that I’m some exceptional athlete—I’m not. The lesson was that persistence matters more than talent. That showing up, even when it’s hard, is most of the battle. That you’re capable of more than you think.
New Skills and Obsessions
Pickleball: Community and Competition
I addressed my obsession in the fast-paced world of pickleball, battling my way to a 3.98 DUPR rating in a vibrant community of fellow enthusiasts.
Pickleball might seem like a strange obsession for a tech professional, but it offered something I desperately needed: community. The courts became a place where I met people from all walks of life, where competition was friendly, where showing up meant instant social connection.
The game itself is addictive—fast enough to be exciting, strategic enough to be interesting, accessible enough that anyone can play. I found myself on the courts for hours, drilling shots, playing matches, talking strategy with partners who became friends.
Drone Pilot License: Looking to the Skies
Professionally, I didn’t stand still. I looked to the skies, earning my drone pilot license.
This wasn’t just about adding a credential—it was about learning something completely new. Studying for the FAA Part 107 exam forced me to understand airspace, weather, regulations, and flight dynamics. Flying the drone itself required developing new skills: spatial awareness, smooth control inputs, creative composition.
The license opened up possibilities I hadn’t considered. Aerial photography, mapping, inspection work—there’s a whole world of applications I’m only beginning to explore. More importantly, the process of learning reminded me that I’m capable of growth, that my identity isn’t fixed, that I can become someone new.
Connection: The Heart of the Summer
More than anything, this summer was about connection. The experiences were meaningful, but the people made them unforgettable.
Live Music and Shared Joy
It was the roar of the crowd at concerts at The Gorge, T-Mobile Park, and the Puyallup State Fair. There’s something about live music that creates instant community—thousands of strangers united by a shared love, singing along to songs that mean something to each of them.
Friends Old and New
It was the laughter and shared stories with friends. Some were old friends I hadn’t seen in too long. Others were new friends made on trails, at pickleball courts, in coffee shops. The summer gave me time to invest in relationships that had been neglected during the busy years of career building.
Home and Love
It was finding a perfect new home with my partner, Joy, and the quiet moments spent cuddling our cats, Simba and Sasha. Amidst all the adventure, the most meaningful moments were often the simplest: morning coffee on the patio, evening walks through the neighborhood, the comfort of being home with the people (and cats) I love.
Looking Forward
Now, with my ski gear prepped for the winter and a heart full of new memories, I feel more recharged and ready for the future than ever before.
The job search will resume. The career will continue. But I’m approaching it differently now. I know what I’m capable of. I know what matters to me. I know that professional setbacks, however painful, are not the end of the story.
Sometimes, the unexpected detours are the ones that lead us exactly where we need to be. I didn’t choose to be laid off, but I chose how to respond. And that choice made all the difference.
What I Learned
For anyone facing a similar situation, here’s what I took away:
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Give yourself permission to feel. The emotions are real and valid. Don’t rush past them.
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Use the time intentionally. You’ve been given a gift, even if it doesn’t feel like one. Don’t waste it doom-scrolling job boards.
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Invest in your health. You’ll need energy for what comes next. Build it now.
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Do something hard. Prove to yourself that you’re capable. The confidence will carry over.
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Connect with people. Relationships matter more than achievements. Invest in them.
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Learn something new. Your identity isn’t fixed. You can become someone different.
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Trust the process. The right opportunity will come. In the meantime, become the person who deserves it.
The best summer of my life started with the worst news of my career. That’s not irony—that’s how growth works.