Notes From A Former Google Recruiter

After I left Google, I knew I was burnt out.

What I didn’t understand yet was that burnout wasn’t simply exhaustion from working too hard. It was the psychological consequence of performing a life that no longer felt fully aligned. That hits deep.

At first, I thought the solution was tactical.

Bet on myself and rebrand.
Refine the positioning.
Optimize the strategy.
Build the next right opportunity.

And to be fair - I deeply believe in positioning. I believe in strategic storytelling, recruiter psychology and helping ambitious people create extraordinary careers.

But eventually I realized something much deeper:

Most people are not struggling because they lack capability.
They are struggling because they are operating from chronic nervous system contraction while trying to make life-defining decisions.

We call it overthinking.
Analysis paralysis.
Confusion.
Fear.

But underneath it is usually grief.

Grief for the version of ourselves that survived through performance.
Grief for how disconnected ambition can make us from our own bodies.
Grief for how many brilliant people secretly feel exhausted while trying to maintain the image of someone who has it all together.

After Google, I kept trying to “figure out” my next life intellectually.
I wanted certainty.
I wanted proof.
I wanted guarantees that my instincts were correct.

I kept wondering:
What if I am crazy?
What if this vision is unrealistic?
What if I am sabotaging myself by wanting something softer, slower, more creative, more dare I say… human?

But the truth is, I wasn’t lost.
I was simply trying to build a new life with an old nervous system.

That changed when I moved to Mexico.

Mexico slowed me down enough to hear myself again.

I bought land with the vision to invest in a community that aligned with where I was going…

I hosted a retreat there and realized that while I was embracing The Eternal Child narrative, I hadn’t fully owned the curiosity, joy, patience and movement that comes from learning how to just be without performing heavily.

Horses changed me even more.

The first time I spent real time around horses, I realized how impossible it was to fake groundedness around them. Horses do not respond to performance. They respond to nervous systems. They respond to presence. To trust. To embodiment.

I couldn’t think my way into calmness around a horse.
I had to become calm.

Slowly, I started understanding something that now shapes all of my work:

Transformation does not happen when we endlessly analyze our future.
It happens when we create enough psychological safety within ourselves to actually inhabit our lives while building them.

That is why I care about curiosity so much now.
Curiosity creates movement where fear creates paralysis.

A curious mind asks:
What if this could work?
What if reinvention is possible?
What if I am allowed to evolve?
What if the dream exists because I am meant to move toward it?

I think this is what so many ambitious people are secretly searching for right now.

Not more productivity hacks.
Not another optimized morning routine.
Not another corporate identity to perform.

Something more human than that.

A way to combine ambition with aliveness.
Strategy with creativity.
Success with nervous system safety.
Vision with embodiment.

Because I no longer believe the future belongs to the people who can simply work the hardest.

I think it belongs to the people brave enough to reinvent themselves completely.

The people willing to trust their instincts when the timing is right.
The people willing to pause when it is not.
The people willing to stop obsessing over the dream long enough to inhabit the journey itself.

And honestly?

Those are the people I want to build with.