After graduating from college, I turned to corporate America as a way to fulfil my dreams. With degree in hand, I applied at Xerox Corporation. They hired me as a secretary in the mid-70’s with a promise of upward mobility if I established a good track record of hard, earnest work. True to their word, they promoted me six months later into a sought-after marketing position. That was in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. From there, I relocated to Northern Virginia to become a marketing instructor at the Xerox International Training Center. Two and one-half years later and buoyed by an infusion of management theory, I was promoted to sales manager for the new Xerox Store in Boston, Massachusetts. Now in my seventh year with the company, this part of the career story finds me completing a successful two years in Boston and heading to Dallas, Texas. I worked long, hard hours transforming myself from an unpolished girl from a small rural town into a business professional that could credibly stand in front of audiences and customers.

Xerox believed that leaders were more valuable when they experienced both line and staff roles. Following that logic, I signed on to become a marketing analyst in a staff role at the corporate office. It turned out to be the most boring and unimaginative role of my career and became a blight on my otherwise stellar record with the company. In fact, I’m ashamed to write about it because most of the problem rested squarely on my own shoulders.

While I didn’t “lay out” of work and showed up each day, I only ever had half of my brain engaged and none of my heart. I was the perfect example of the disengaged employee doing a j.o.b. Like a lot of other disengaged associates, I checked my heart at the door and refused to give any discretionary effort to help my company create the best solutions in the marketplace. But I learned a valuable life lesson: past mistakes don’t define us. We can recover and get back on track, which I eventually did. In this story, you will see how I failed miserably along the way.

I was excited to step into the elevator of Mockingbird Towers that first day of the new job. It wasn’t long, though, until boredom set in. Unlike any other job I held with the company, I couldn’t connect with this work which required solitary hours reviewing marketing specifications for new products. I had a tiny office with floor-to-ceiling windows which allowed me to look over the Dallas skyline. Most of the time, my door was closed so I could concentrate on the analytics of my work. To get a mental break from the tedious boredom, I would push the chair back from my desk and gaze out at the dazzling city before me with absolutely nothing on my mind but going home at the end of the day.

Home was a brand new 1400-square-foot patio home in North Dallas. I had never heard the concept of a patio home before. In Dallas, it meant a smaller single-family structure with lots of windows situated on a compact lot. Even though I had purchased two homes previously, both condominiums, this time I didn’t share walls or hallways with neighbors. For the first time, I had a garage in which to park my car and, as it turns out, oversee the birth of my rescue cat’s litter of kitties. But the story of Texas and her young’ins is for another time.

The full-sized washer and dryer, another first for me, was positioned in a hallway closet, tucked neatly behind double doors. An eat-in kitchen overlooked the patio in back, the living room had soaring ceilings with a fire place, and a guest bedroom looked out to the quiet street in front. It was the master bathroom that sold me on the home. It was huge with vaulted ceilings, a sunken, oversized tub crafted from white ceramic tiles, vibrantly green plants growing in a built-in planter surrounding the tub, a full-sized shower, and two sinks with a marble-like vanity. The large walk-in closet was just off the bath. The bedroom was high-ceilinged and spacious with wall-to-wall glass doors that overlooked more of the patio. It was elegant, stylish, and a dream-come-true. It was also way too much money for my budget, but logic didn’t guide the decision.

On top of the steep price tag, the interest rate on my mortgage was over 18%, unheard of in these days and times but a way of life back in the early 80’s. For a while, I was house poor. I had the home but not enough left over each month for furnishings. They would come later—piece by carefully selected piece. I will always remember the day I was able to donate my orange and white couch that had moved with me from Pennsylvania to Virginia to Massachusetts and now to Texas. My church had notified me they needed furnishings for a family who had lost everything in a fire. I had already begun to search for a new couch, and I offered my existing couch to the family in need. It would be several months before I could afford my new couch, so guests joined me on the carpeted floor of the living room for a cup of cocoa by the fire. Despite being in over my head, I was on cloud nine in this glamorous and glitzy city.

My home was built behind a lush grove of trees on Smoke Glass Trail, which, at the time, was the last street in North Dallas. What was left of the prairies could be seen from my windows in back. Today, there is not a square inch of land left in that area on which to build. Back then, the coyotes roamed around at night on the open plains behind my street, which I found both scary and somehow pleasingly primitive.

In part to forget my boring day and partly because I sat at my desk for hours on end, I took early evening walks in the neighborhood. It was safe, open, and ablaze with magnificent sunsets in vivid southwestern hues of pink, orange, and red. Neighbors were friendly and always stopped to say hi or chat a moment. Other than my work, I was happy in Dallas.

About six months after I arrived, Xerox revised some business plans which resulted in a downsizing of staff at the corporate headquarters location. Some of us were shipped out to other offices in the Dallas area. I was sent to a manufacturing plant on the outskirts of the city, which was actually closer to my home in North Dallas. While my commute improved, the quality of work life took a steep nose dive. That’s when I met George.

George was a machine. A detail-driven, geek-level technologist. George ate and slept the technology. He was the first person at work each morning and drilled away at the details all day long with only a brief and habitually timed break for lunch. He wasn’t wild about women in manufacturing and he especially wasn’t wild about this woman. From his first glance my way, I knew this was going to get interesting. My only saving grace was my ex-pat manager Anna who was on loan to us from Rank Xerox in England.
Anna tried to make me feel welcome even though she knew we were not cut from the same cloth. She quickly realized I had no interest in technical specifications, yet she seemed to believe I still had value from my previous successful background with the company. Anna was a technical professional and hand-selected to come to America to teach us from her big book of technical knowledge. She was pleasant, understanding, hard-working, and had her own challenges with George. But George grew to respect Anna.

And my other saving grace was a beautiful new friend named Marilyn, who, like me, also had a marketing background but was now assigned to manufacturing. The difference, though, is that Marilyn didn’t compromise her standards. I can still see her as she arrived at work, slinging her mink coat over a chair, and getting busy. I envied how she could appear so committed and engaged. I found myself popping into her cubicle from time to time just to get inspired.

I don’t blame George for not taking to me. I was not a technical type and certainly not a manufacturing type. We were polar opposites. If only I could take an interest in this work, I told myself over and over. Then George would see me differently. For the life of me, I could not get engaged in work I felt was boring and dull. Here, after seven wonderful years of progress with the company, I met my waterloo. George and my job. I hated my job. I like to think I didn’t hate George but I disliked who George was when he was around me: an arrogant, detail-sniffing, know-it-all who did not suffer fools. I disliked who I was when I was around George: a bumbling fool who had not done her homework. I was miserable. The thing is, there are all kinds of people in the world and the world of work. To honor each person as a sacred human being, we need to celebrate our differences, not bio-reject them out of hand. That’s what George did with me. And that’s what I did with George. We were both wrong.

Had it not been for Anna, I would have likely been let go. And I would have deserved it. She was so gracious, smart, and tried hard to get me to shape up. But, sadly and with regret, I never did. I remained in a miserable state for over two years during my assignment in manufacturing. I did only enough to get by. Words I never thought could describe my work ethic were now justified: ill-informed and a slacker. I loathed going to work each day. Never before had I hated work. Never before had I worked in such a lazy and careless manner. For the life of me, I couldn’t snap myself out of the slump I was in. So I stayed there and swam around in the muck and mire of my own doing. Thank God, I had my church and new friends to provide a respite on the weekends.

I attended a mega church. In fact, Mary Kay Ash of the famed Mary Kay Cosmetics was on the building committee and personally engaged in raising funds for our large new sanctuary. The pastor was charismatic with a beautiful wife who was a former Baylor-beauty. I hadn’t heard of a Baylor-beauty before moving to Dallas, but it was a big deal for anyone who attended Baylor University in Waco, Texas.

One Sunday in church, I happened to look up to the balcony before Pastor’s sermon. I saw the sight of a man, such as I had never seen before, taking a seat on the aisle. He was very tall—at least 6’5” I reasoned, trim and lanky, with silver hair styled neatly yet fashionably, the bluest eyes, and dressed like a gentlemen of the golden age with his beige raincoat draped neatly over his arm, his navy blue suit buttoned, his shirt and tie crisp and neat. I couldn’t see the shine on his shoes, but I knew I was gazing upon one of the best looking, most well-heeled men I had ever seen. Four months later, I married him. By the way, he’s 6’6” tall. My handsome prince and I are now approaching our 35th wedding anniversary. He’s as beautiful in every way as he was way back then. However, we almost never met. Women surrounded him wherever he went, and it was nearly impossible to get his attention. I learned why much later. I wasn’t his type.

Join me next time as I share the love story of my life and as I say farewell to the company that shaped me professionally through challenging assignments and magnificent scholarship that created my own personal brand of leadership. I failed in Dallas, but I will forever cherish my time with this classy and smart company.