The Day I Lost My Way
In 1998, I was 27 years old, fresh from Stanford's MBA program, and convinced that numbers told the whole story. I'd just been promoted to lead financial strategy at a mid-sized Houston firm, and I was ready to prove myself.
The quarterly review was my chance to shine. I'd spent weeks analyzing every spreadsheet, every metric, every data point. I presented my findings with the confidence of someone who'd never made a mistake.
But I'd missed the most important number of all: the human cost.
She'd been working 60-hour weeks, her performance slipping because she was caring for her dying husband. I saw only the declining sales figures, never the story behind them. I recommended a performance improvement plan that would have cost her her job.
When my boss pulled me aside and showed me the real story — the hospital bills, the missed family moments, the quiet desperation in her eyes — I felt something crack inside me.