My Story and Values

This is my choice, and my Mission Possible

I couldn’t hold back the tears at that meeting, even though the rational part of my brain was completely calm. Twenty years is almost half a lifetime, and my emotions were screaming – I’m losing my income, insurance, and I have no idea what’s next. I have too much education and experience to accept “any job,” but too little patience to give up control over my life. From today’s perspective, I know that everything happened at the right time and in the right way, and those tears marked the end of one part of my life. I haven’t cried at work many times, and I was ashamed of the tears at that meeting. I didn’t cry at work because I carried the tears home, into silence and darkness.

The first part of my life began on New Year’s, the one my mom celebrated in the maternity ward. The second part of my life started with a shooting star, which I spotted on a wartime evening in the darkness, as there was no electricity. I remember that evening for a wish that came true many years later. I recalled the shooting star in a moment that was so perfect that I thought to myself how much I love my life. It was at the end of a day, following a beautiful weekend by the sea, nestled between peaceful yet productive workdays and an inspirational strength training session, just a few days before performing in another city with a fun dance group. The perfection of that moment briefly helped me forget my desire and ambition to arrange my time, knowledge, and energy on my own terms.

The third part of my life began with a letter, which I anticipated as the third significant moment in that year. I had just turned 50, recovered from COVID-19, and found myself without a job for the first time in my life. All of this happened in the first three months of that year.

I wiped away the tears, reminded myself that change was a result of my decision, and began to write because I had to preserve my mental health. Everything I processed and concluded seemed like valuable assistance for someone going through similar dilemmas and challenges. My experiences taught me, strengthened me, and developed my resilience. From the writing phase, my first book was later born.

A few years before that day, I dreamed of coming to work—to a familiar place, the office I entered every day without thinking—and finding my place. I dreamed of no longer seeing my name on the nameplate beside the door. Confused and disoriented, I wondered what to do. The dream came true. I no longer had my chair, my computer, or my work email. I was just Nela, the owner of the only possible permanent contract: a contract with myself. It was my choice because I once again became the owner of my greatest assets: my freedom and my time.

When I announced that I was leaving the big system where I had worked for nearly 20 years, I received hundreds of messages, ideas, and advice. Many people dream of such a job, and almost no one who has such a job decides to part ways before retirement. Many acquaintances asked me, with astonishment, how I dared to leave behind security and protection. Of course, it was pleasant to have privileges and benefits. I would recommend everyone try working for a global, international organization.

After my years of service, it was time for a change that I couldn’t expect from within the system. I was mature enough, capable, and responsible enough to decide how I would live in the new phase of my life. Freedom was one of my core values, and I was finally ready to devote myself to my priorities. The complexity of the large system became too much for me, as I became increasingly aware over the years that life is short and my time is limited. The pandemic gave me enough time to realize this, and I no longer had tolerance for unnecessary meetings, unproductive discussions, or excessive bureaucracy. Some might call it burnout, but for me, it was a sign of the end of that phase of life.

Did I know what I would do? I didn’t. Did I have a backup plan? I didn’t. I simply believed in myself, my abilities, and the opportunities. I knew that the world is imperfect and that there’s always something to improve. I knew that I never wished harm on anyone or did anything wrong to anyone. “You’re naive because you think that if you don’t eat the lions, a lion won’t eat you!” my husband would say, trying to protect me. However, I learned to choose whose advice I heeded. I believed that I had great colleagues, mentors, and potential partners who believed that I could be of help to someone, somewhere. The rest was just learning the rules of the new game.

“Aunty, why don’t you teach online courses?” My nephew asked me while I was explaining to my mom that I wasn’t afraid of change. I don’t know if it was a coincidence, but my mom also became an entrepreneur unexpectedly at the same age as me, many years earlier. Somehow, in that conversation, we affirmed to each other that I would find a way to turn my knowledge and experience into security.

It was my choice. That thought sounded both terrifying and liberating at the same time. That thought helped me understand and accept all the turbulent days and challenges that awaited me. Uncertainty stared at me like an unknown monster, and all my courage wasn’t enough to make that uncertainty seem less frightening. I learned from entrepreneurs, advisors, and creatives how vast the dimensions of the unknown actually are and how to embrace and tame the uncertainty monster. I learned how to accept days when it seemed like there was no reason to get out of bed because perhaps no one would even notice. “Do you have time to do this?” or “Do you want to submit a joint proposal?” “Can you handle this?” — those were rare reminders and glimmers of hope that I wouldn’t be forgotten.

My choice was to become visible and to create my own formula for it. It was my way of seeking solutions instead of worrying about problems.

Although I didn’t know precisely what I wanted to do in this new phase of life, I knew very well what I didn’t want. That was the starting point, and very quickly, I created an occupation, a job, and a mission for myself. That’s how my Mission Possible began: I wanted to find other people with whom I would seek solutions instead of worrying about problems. This was how I wanted to help my “younger self” reach visibility and economic independence so that she could also say, “This is my choice”—whatever it takes.

Values and Principles