Lean on Each Other

How relying on friends transforms a job search.

👋 Hiya, job sneaker!

It’s July, and once again, Kent plops down in the chair with the weird tear in it. His boss leans forward, all smiles. “Kent, you're doing great work. We want to renew your contract.”

Déjà vu. Same spiel, five years running.

Which makes Kent wonder why he’s been low-key job hunting these past few months. Sure, the work is getting stale, but the job market is brutal. Maybe it’s best to let the open roles go to people who really need them.

A week later, he’s sipping coffee with an old friend, a new ritual he started when he first began looking. Meet up, catch up, see if they know of any opportunities. “Maybe I should take a break from these, now that I’m staying put?" he muses. His friend shrugs. "Hey, do whatever you need, man. You know I’m always here.”

Then August hits, and Kent finds himself back in that same torn chair. Only this time, his boss isn’t smiling. “The position dried up. We can’t renew.”

Wait, what? How does a job just disappear overnight? Wasn’t this the same guy telling me I was crushing it last month?

Kent goes home and tells his wife. He’s not ready to hit the market full throttle. He knows how rough it is out there. But they’ve got eight kids to put through school. So, ready or not, it’s go time.

He pounds the pavement. No networking rock left unturned. Coffee meetups, church handshakes, handing out resumes to other parents at speed-skating practice.

And it works. One to two interviews a week. A night-and-day difference from his other strategy—customizing resumes, blindly firing off applications, and getting one phone screen out of a hundred.

Then October rolls in, and finally, “Kent, we think you’d be a great fit. We want you on board.”

But the offer? Laughably low. Then he replays something the execs said—how they frown on candidates interviewing elsewhere, how they despise job-hoppers. Huge red flags. He trusts his gut and declines, betting on his remaining interviews.

Which promptly fizzle out. Then the callbacks stop. The job market goes quiet.

By the holidays, nothing. No leads. No movement. Just silence.

Late one night, while his family sleeps, Kent lies awake, replaying that rejected offer over and over. Was I an idiot? Should I have just taken it? What if that was my only shot?

Come January, he can't sit in this despair any longer. He heads to a familiar tech meetup, one he used to love, hosted at his former employer. The moment he walks in, familiar faces light up. The energy is contagious. For the first time in months, he feels something other than stress.

So, he keeps showing up. Not for networking, just for the camaraderie. The boost. The reminder that he’s still Kent, still valuable, still part of a community.

And then, one day, the phone rings.

It’s the recruiting firm that placed him in his last contract. “Hey, we’ve got something. ML Ops. They want seven years of experience. Interested?”

Kent laughs. “Has ML Ops even been around for seven years? Whatever, throw my name in the hat.”

A month later, he’s sitting in a new chair, in a new boss’s office. “Kent, you’re doing great work.”

But this time, the work is exciting. Challenging.

And this time, if he ever has to do it all over again, he’s ready.

The door prize? The job came through a traditional path, but it took time for the stars to align. The real takeaway, though, wasn’t just about his network aiding in the job search—it was about leaning on those connections for emotional support during the long layoff. Without that camaraderie, the wait would have been much harder to endure. If you can be that support for someone else, don’t hesitate—offer encouragement and affirmation. It can make all the difference.

Support one another out there,

✌️ Kirby