Farewell, my friend

When I started working for Google, people barely knew what it was, much less that it had an office in Atlanta. We would turn up at industry events and with that kind, Southern glint in their eye, middle-aged businessmen would mispronounce our company and inquire what we did.

"Gaggle?," they'd say. "What does this, um, Gaggle do?"

We'd explain to them that the company was actually called GOOGLE, that it was a search engine, and that we had a small sales-based office there. Never mind that many of them didn't really know what a search engine was, this being Atlanta and all, but their eyes would glaze over and they'd move on to the next potential acquaintance-to-be who could possibly make them money.

Yes, this was the Google of the olden days, and I say that with a knowing grin since the company is a mere 8 1/2 years old. Those who knew of our company loved it (the rumors of the free food and un-corporate atmosphere that had started to hit the presses were true) and it was only a few years until my Dad finally figured out exactly what it was that I did.

I came to Google with a nontraditional background, something that I'd often forget as I'd go through my days working for the "World's Best Company." I had long wanted to be a doctor; first a surgeon, then - through my passion for genetics - a genetic counselor. The turning point came on graduation day from UNC when I realized that while I could have been a great physician or genetic counselor, it wasn't really what I wanted to do. Where exactly I would find my true passion was still beyond me at this point, but I knew that the path to medical school was not one upon which I wanted to partake.

And so I set off for the world of Georgetown and graduate school, only to find that their nascent CCT (Communication, Culture and Technology) program promised much in the prospectus, but little in the way of directing me towards that ever-fleeting goal of "What do I want to do with my life?" On a whim, and after a particularly fantastic weekend in Atlanta with some of my college roommates, I applied to three jobs there, and within 24 hours, received three interviews. This was the year 2000, and jobs were aplenty.

Let's not get bogged down by details at this point; this story is about my love affair with Google, not my jobs preceding it. Suffice it to say I had two jobs that taught me by the seat of my pants, threw me in wholly unprepared for the tasks awaiting me and I somehow came out on the other end, victorious, and as a new employee at Google.

The company itself was still small - in the high hundreds - and our little Atlanta office held nine in the very un-Googly shared space that consisted of one long hallway and youthful-inspired offices. Because youth is what we had; only one of us had a child, and he was our regional director; the rest of us were somewhat fresh-faced kids embarking upon a big adventure, replete with a few handy perks. But don't let that fool you into thinking we were swimming down streams of milk and honey; quite the contrary. Yes, we had free Diet Cokes (hurrah!) and the occasional Zone Bars, but the satellite offices were a far cry from the main "Googleplex" located in Mountain View, CA. Our trips there were like descending upon a duty-free world of "Supermarket Sweep", often stocking our laptop bags with Pirates Booty and Gummy Bears to hoard at our desks upon our return to Atlanta. (Note that this was soon addressed and the sales offices were given the same perks as the main one. I think they got tired of us 'outsiders' cleaning them out of their Merano cookies.)

I loved my job as much as anyone can; of course there were the moments that I thought I would die if I dreamed of another excel spreadsheet (I wish I was kidding!) but really, I knew how good I had it. Here I was in my mid-twenties, being part of something both wholly inclusive of me yet somehow bigger. I spoke up at meetings, and was sought out by directors, thanked for being so forthright. I was asked to be on task-teams that changed the way things were done, from hiring to review cycles; from office perks to communication procedures. We worked our butts off, but we left at the end of the day knowing that we had made an impact. Idyllic, you say, but that's how it was, even for a mere "peon" in a satellite office. Yes, it was that awesome.

And then we hit it big. We IPO'd in a nontraditional fashion, consistent with many of the values held by the founders and the company itself. We exceeded expectations again and again and again, and to this day, Google continues to do so. And through it all, we grew. I read somewhere that we receive over 2500 resumes a day and I don't doubt it; named this year as Fortune's Best place to Work, everyone wants a little part of Google. It's got that magic shine about it.

Through this period, I was growing professionally and trying to figure out what it was I wanted to do next - within the company, of course. We were narrowing our focus on our sales teams, and I recognized that while it was for the best decision of the company, it wasn't necessarily the best decision for me professionally. And so I sought advice from different directors - mentors of mine to this day - who went out on a limb and not only suggested a few different opportunities for me, but also said that they would create one if it came to that. Google was just that type of place, a company that never wanted to lose you, that wanted to make sure you were doing something beneficial to the company, but moreover, beneficial to you as an individual.

And so I took advantage of that, not once, but twice. I accepted roles in two of our newer acquisitions, first for Google Analytics, and then for the dMarc - now Google Audio - acquisition. Both were unchartered territory for this former biologist, but both provided me with that 'trial by fire' experience that I had so loved in my former roles.

Yet in this last year, I noticed small, subtle changes. I wasn't finding myself challenged, and despite asking for more responsibility, I found that most of my days were being filled up with tasks that didn't offer me any opportunity to use my skills. My workload, significantly diminished from anything I've ever experienced, remained so despite me reaching out to remedy this. Google, with all its amazing benefits and perks, was becoming a large company, and it appeared that I was being lost in the shuffle.

I can't tell you how much this saddened me; I've made a concerted point NOT to discuss work on this website, and as many of you will attest to, my posts in the last year have become less and less frequent. This isn't a coincidence; this is because my work - or the lack thereof - was affecting my life so much that I didn't have much to say. I didn't want to complain in a public forum about this - Google was, after all, and is, a fantastic place to work. It just seems that for whatever reason, I had fallen through the cracks. Whereas before I knew that I was part of something momentous, a cog in wheel constantly pushing forth change and advancement, I now often felt like a discarded relative forgotten during the holidays save for the requisite fruitcake. And I didn't like it.

Change was imminent; there was no way that I could continue to flourish in this environment without looking for something new. I began updating my resume (no small task after four+ years) and started applying for jobs, mainly within Google, but in a few instances, outside of the company I had grown so much with. It felt like a betrayal in a lot of ways; the few people I confided in didn't judge me, but I had this fear that someone would say that I was "biting the hand" and chastise my decision to even LOOK elsewhere. After all, this was GOOGLE we were talking about. THE GOOGLE! Didn't I know how LUCKY I was?

But during this time, lucky was not the word that I would use to describe this. Unchallenged. Stagnant. Self-Deprecating, perhaps. "Lucky" wasn't in my vocabulary, especially when I was turned down for roles with the company, them citing me being unqualified for roles that I would not only have excelled in, but wanted to pursue (including a writing position.) The slap in the face came with my form "rejection" letter addressed to "Audrey". I think it was around then when I realized that it might be time to say farewell.

Google is a large company these days, and with that comes many growing pains. It is MUCH harder to take care of 11,000 people than it is 1000. And they try - I know that on a daily basis they are faced with unsolvable problems and they're doing their best to come up with the solution that will not be the perfect solution, but instead will anger the least amount of people.  Google is doing this better than any other company in the world, I would say, and don't for one second think that I don't commiserate with them on these decisions.  But as I came to realize when I was looking for different roles a few years back within Google, the right decision for the company may not be aligned with the right decision for me.

And so I made the impossible choice to leave. My last day at Google was Monday, May 7th, and after packing up four+ years of my belongings (in many ways, my life), I drove off the campus with tears streaming down my face. I was, and am, confident that my decision to move on was right, but that didn't make it one stitch easier to leave the people and company that I believed in for so long. That I continue to believe in. I would never want this to dissuade any one of you from being one of the 2500 resumes Google receives daily; just know that mine won't be among them, at least not for now.

I had my 'exit interview' with HR in a typically nontraditional manner, and I'm sure I caught him off guard by my nontraditional questions, one of which was "Do people ever come back?" I asked this not because my decision to leave was anything but intentional, but because I've long ago realized that we can't ever really plan our lives, and I wondered how Google viewed people leaving the company. The kind-faced man in HR looked at me and said, with conviction, the same words that the head of sales had written me in a personal email as I was leaving.

"Aubrey, the door for you here is wide open."

And so I don't wish to say goodbye to Google, but instead, farewell. Because you never know when our paths will cross again.

See ya around, Goog. That's a promise.

Comments

[Matt Dickman]

Aubrey -- I felt compelled to comment after reading this post. I am really proud of the decision you made and the rationale behind it. I find myself coming into a similar situation and it's great to know that other people find the strength to make tough choices. There are lots of adventures out there for you. Can't wait to catch up next time you're in town.

A wonderful story. Good luck to you. I'm sure you'll do great wherever you end up!

[Thelma Bowlen]

Stopped by after a Twitter friend shared this link. You had me at "Farewell" and left me shedding a tear at "promise".

Three years ago, I walked away from a successful morning show on the FM band in the Philippines that was on the air for close to five years. I was in radio since 1989.

It was just time for me to move on. And the perfect time to do that was at the height of our popularity on Zach and Joey in the Morning.

Nowadays, I am doing what I truly love - writing. Like you, the airwaves have a place for me still. At this point though, I'm happy right where I am.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I wish you the best!

[chette]

Argh, I'm such a softie. Your post actually made me teary eyed!

[pageman]

Hi Aubrey,

here's to you and your decision to jump without a parachute :)

GERONIMO!

[Yohann]

Bravo...Partir de Google est un acte de courage et de grandeur. Ne lache rien !

[Julian]

Great post Aubs and congratulations on your courageous decision. Amazing things await you. :)