At a Corporate Crossroads

I am, somewhat annoyingly and slightly concerningly, a serial loyalist when it comes to most things in my life.

Many of my routines from young adulthood are still intact, my best friends are the ones I’ve known for decades, my husband and I are rolling towards 19 years together. Hell, I still have my cherished and battered blankie from childhood tucked into my closet— a prized possession that I am absolutely grabbing in the event of a fire.

And that same stubborn loyalty rings true when it comes to employment as well.

I've worked at two places. That’s it. (Three if you count my college work-study where I was a T.A. for the department chair of the Psychology program— in which essentially, I was a glorified paper-grader that rarely got to see the inside of the classroom.)

For nearly 20 years, I’ve worked at the same for-profit company. All my career eggs are quite literally in one "cash is king" Corporate America basket.

Nothing can go wrong with that, right?

Millennials are a fickle breed. We’re labeled job hoppers of the professional world, flitting from role to role in search of meaning, money, or both. And yet, data tells a more nuanced story: that 62% of millennials actually want long-term stability in their careers (according to the smart people at Gallup.)

We didn’t reject loyalty; we just inherited an economy that often didn’t return it (even less so now.)

However, I, apparently took the “stay put and hope for the best” route. And for a long time, it worked. I built a career. I found purpose (or at least proximity to it). I found myself constantly saying things like “circle back,” “low hanging fruit,” “let’s connect offline.” I became a version of myself that looked and sounded more grown up than I ever actually felt inside.

Regardless, I continued to move up and around the company, making so many great (and some not so great) connections, and learning more than I ever expected to learn about the world of healthcare.

Then, a few years ago, I landed on a team that felt like an electric shock to my soul. It was a rare mix of people—high-functioning, resilient, deeply supportive, and genuinely human—in a way that didn’t feel corporate at all. We weren’t just colleagues; we were a group of like-minded humans doing meaningful work and showing up for one another through wins and heartbreaks, both inside and outside the office. I felt part of something bigger than a profit margin.

Until about 3 weeks ago when, in a plot twist that feels both deeply personal and entirely impersonal, our team was dismantled. Not because of performance. Not because of failure. But because somewhere, in some room with a bunch of overpaid consultants, decisions were made about efficiencies and shareholder expectations with zero input from the people actually doing that work.

We had a fully approved budget, a clear strategy, and thoughtful workplans. And still, it unraveled. We all still have jobs, they are just unclear, undefined, and not our decision.

This is the part where burnout enters, but not in the way we usually talk about it.

I’m not burned out by the work itself. I love the work. I like solving problems, building strategies, collaborating with smart people, learning from others. What I’m burned out by is the machine—the constant hum of capitalism reminding us that no matter how meaningful the mission sounds, the bottom line is still the bottom line.

It’s a strange kind of disillusionment: realizing that you’ve spent two decades doing good work inside a system that may not be designed to prioritize “good” in the way you once believed.

And so here I am. Mid-career. Elder millennial. And, not to be dramatic, I feel like I’m standing at an existential crossroads— wanting to break out of the churn and burn expectations of corporate America but not having a clue what my life could look like once I’m free.

And beneath this uncertainty, there’s also a question: What does 43-year-old Megan want to be when she grows up?

Not “What’s my next role?” but “What kind of work actually matters to me?” Not “How do I advance?” but “What do I want to stand for?”

As I’ve evolved over the years, my perspectives, my beliefs, my heart remolding and changing the more life experience I’ve gained, I find myself drawn to things that feel… larger. Work that exists not just to generate revenue, but to create impact. To fix the things that are broken, advocate for those who can't advocate for themselves. Do something that aligns less with quarterly earnings calls and more with human outcomes. Less for-profit, more…for the greater good.

Of course, this is where the practical voice kicks in. The one that says: You’ve spent 20 years in one sector. You’re not 23 anymore, you don’t just pivot. Oh, and remember those loud and needy little people you created? Yeah, they ain’t cheap.

You don’t just walk away from stability.

But there’s another voice now, too. Quieter, but persistent, saying, “But what if you could?”

So how does one find clarity at a moment like this? How do you move from vague dissatisfaction to something resembling direction when you feel completely directionless?

Maybe it doesn’t come all at once.

After all, clarity doesn’t arrive fully formed. It shows up in fragments—through conversations, curiosity, and paying attention to what energizes you versus what depletes you. Passion is less about a lightning bolt and more about a pattern—the things you keep coming back to. The topics you read about when no one asks you to.

All of that is data. Follow it.

And I think it’s okay to not know. In fact, it might be necessary. After 20 years of defining myself within a single system, not knowing doesn’t have to feel like failure, it can feel more like… space.

So here I am. With zero answers, and a lot of questions. But also, with a growing sense that there is something beyond the corporate machine— a version of work that can breathe new life into a person no matter how far they are into their career. A version of work that feels more human, more… mine.

And maybe that’s all I need to know right now.

(But I am also entirely open to suggestions should anyone feel the need to weigh in on my existential mid-life crisis.)