Over the weekend, I found myself reflecting on a moment I wish I could undo. I saw, more clearly than ever, the harm I caused and it’s left me feeling like I am nowhere near the person I believed I was.
Back in 2020, a longtime friend of mine lost his job at Chevron under troubling circumstances. He had filed a discrimination claim against a colleague, and not long after, he was let go. The VP’s involvement made everything feel deliberate. Word spread quietly, and then I was pulled aside by the GM Ops. The advice was firm and clear: keep your distance if you want your career to keep going.
That’s exactly what I did. Which is painful to admit.
This person wasn’t just a coworker. We’d known each other for over 20 years. He stood by me at my wedding. He was there when I became a parent. He once drove 20 miles to help me change a tire in the middle of nowhere. Our spouses were close. They met for lunch often. He and his family stayed with us the entire day my mother-in-law passed. Our kids played together and genuinely cared about one another.
The the GM's words freshly in my brain, I stopped responding to him. I quit going to the gym where we used to train together. I didn’t return his calls. I ignored emails, even the one that said, “I really need to talk.” My family followed my lead. We did what was asked. We played the loyal Chevron family.
Then came this latest round of layoffs. I didn’t make the cut.
I spent a few days stuck in my own disappointment. My spouse, gently, reminded me that our old friend had faced something similar years ago and suggested I reach out. I waited a week. Then, unsure if the number still worked, I sent a simple message: “I need a friend. Can you talk?”
He replied almost instantly: “Absolutely.”
We met at a restaurant that Saturday. He walked in with the familiar smile everyone remembered. He gave me a hug and said it was great to see me. We caught up, talked about people we knew, and laughed more than I expected. I had missed this. Missed him.
Toward the end of our conversation, he pulled out a manila envelope. Inside was a detailed update to my LinkedIn profile, a strong resume, and several tailored cover letters. He had done all this without being asked. Just because. I was speechless. He smiled and said, “No worries. Happy to help.”
Before leaving, I said it would be nice to bring our families together again. He paused for a moment, then said kindly, “I don’t think that’s possible. I just can’t put my spouse and kids through that again, but I truly wish you the best.”
I nodded, quietly stunned. He gave me a wink, paid for the meal, and walked out.
I sat for a while in silence, then went to my car and cried.
Not because I had lost a job.
Because I had lost something far more personal. That is when I realized, I am a bad person.