New York is the hottest it’s been all summer.
And I’ve been running.
I’m not training for anything. I don’t care about my times. My running is not a dating app masquerading as a run club.
Often my metric of a good run comes down to how I felt. Did I run further than before? Did I push myself? Did I stop to walk?
Yet in today’s heat, my runs have been increasingly interrupted by a newfound need to stop and walk.
One walk turns into two. Then four. Next thing I know, I’m bent over my knees, huffing for several minutes with my head hung in defeat.
Recently in my interviews, I’ve been asked “What is your greatest achievement?”
And each time, I have to intentionally stop and prevent myself from blurting out “water polo.”
From the time I picked up the sport at eleven years old, my season would repeatedly end by losing to one team: Belen Jesuit.
Belen’s players were infamous for abusing the little protection offered by the speedos water polo players were required to wear.
Their coach exclusively spoke Spanish, using it to hide so much profanity that my Cuban grandfather would leave games in embarrassment.
Even the Belen parents were feared across the state for their devotion: always chanting “Bel-en, Bel-en, RA, RA, RA” while stomping in the bleachers.
My school, Ransom Everglades, also shared a district with Belen Jesuit.
Only one of us could win the district title and advance to compete for the Regional and State titles.
This meant that even if we beat every other team in the state, when we lost the District finals to Belen we lost any chance at a trophy to mark our season and team as successful.
It truly felt like it was good versus evil: Paul (C. Ransom) Atreides vs the Hialeah Harkonnens.
The first piece of advice I got before beginning my job search was that it would take twice the amount of time I thought it would take.
Initially, this meant two to three months, so I increased my worst-case scenarios to five or six months.
I’d be employed by summer.
I was recently asked, “What have you been up to in the past 10 months?”
I’ve had offers, found opportunities that really excited me, and gotten to the final rounds for several high-profile startups.
I’ve learned how difficult it can be to close, how to not put all my eggs in a single basket, and how to stick to a system.
But I still haven’t gotten my title yet. My proof to the world that this journey has been worth it.
Update on that job I mentioned last issue: I had my second-to-last interview and it did not go the way I expected
It didn’t go badly per se. Instead, I’m left with no idea how things will proceed.
Maybe I should have adjusted my expectations after learning that they typically fill this role with more senior candidates
Maybe I should have done more during March and April when I only sought out and completed five interviews.
Maybe I should have stopped myself from answering “water polo.”
Three weeks after our season-ending loss to Belen, next year’s season would begin.
The first practice of the year?
Setting up the pool, running the shot clock, and keeping track of the score for the State title tournament.
In seventh grade, my school opened an ocean-side, state-of-the-art pool and began hosting the state championship water polo tournament.
To make this practice even more difficult, the team we shared this pool with -- the Ransom Women’s team-- would win five state titles just while I was in school.
Finally, in the spring of my Senior year, we beat Belen and went on to win States.
On the surface, talking about water polo shows how I’ve previously been persistent and overcome failure and adversity to reach a goal.
But more important than teaching me how to pick myself back up is how water polo taught me how true enjoyment is often detached from results.
What we lost to Belen for six years straight we made up in winning an infinite number of little victories.
Despite our school’s 7:43am start time, we started hosting weekly scrimmages early each Friday morning to get extra practice.
Despite the “official” season being in Spring, we’d sacrifice summers to train and go to California to find games and opponents.
Despite only being able to put seven people in play at a time, our team would maintain a ~30-man roster from sixth grade to senior year.
The interview caught me by surprise: it was unexpectedly honest.
My interviewer and I candidly discussed how my profile didn’t match the archetype that they’d previously hired for the role.
It wasn’t the end of the world. But it also wasn’t the impression I dreamed of leaving.
I’m left wishing I could just snap my fingers and produce that magical optimism that accompanies first finding an exciting job.
But optimism isn’t about finding inspiration, it’s about making it.
It’s about not letting your fourth walking break turn into a Citi bike ride home.
It's about not being bothered by the fact that you’ve started and stopped this newsletter twice before.
It’s about showing up for that god-awful practice where you were forced to watch your mortal enemies and your sports equivalent of a more successful sibling achieve what you wanted.
However much my mind wants to jump and judge outcomes, water polo has taught me to value the journey over the destination.
To enjoy the conversations and connections I made along the way. To value the takeaways about how fast time can pass. To view uncertainty through the lens of trust in the trail that has been this process.
Maybe they already decided to go with a candidate who meets the ideal profile they have already hired in the past.
But maybe I also stood out enough from the typical candidates enough to challenge their existing notions on what type of person can fill the role.
WKD
“I don’t play for the record books.”
— Roger Federer