Reflecting on life 🪞 different stages bring different clarity.
- Klara J.
- 7 hours ago
- 4 min read
My first job? I left for a bigger, better opportunity. Simple as that.
At Ericsson, I was offered the chance to move to a new state and join a strategic new business. Honestly? I said yes without fully knowing what I was walking into — and I didn't care. In my 20s, all I cared about was growth. I wanted to find something I could pour my whole heart into and figure out how to win — even though I had almost no idea what winning actually looked like.
I translated it the only way I knew how at the time: how do I go from being a world-ranked tennis player to a world-ranked business executive? What I didn't yet understand is that there are no rankings in the business world. 😄 The metrics are murkier. The finish lines keep moving. And the skills that make you a great athlete — discipline, resilience, the ability to perform under pressure — they matter, but they only take you so far.
After a decade at Ericsson — learning, growing, being stretched — I knew it was time for a new perspective.
Apple drew me in for three reasons.
1️⃣ I wanted to understand how innovation actually happens inside one of the most impressive companies ever built.
2️⃣ I wanted to experience a different kind of leadership — for the first time, I reported directly to a woman, and I genuinely wanted to learn what that looked like in practice.
3️⃣ And I wanted to find work that connected more closely to my passion. (still figuring that one out)
It turned out to be a near-perfect match. I was part of a small strategic team two levels below Tim Cook, working at the intersection of health, business, and technology. As a former athlete, helping inspire people to live healthier, safer lives using the Apple ecosystem felt about as close to a full circle as I could imagine.
But as with most things that feel truly alive, it didn't last. Leadership changes, business direction shifts, and a personal relocation pushed me toward something new.
I landed at Accenture — one of the largest, most prestigious consulting firms in the world. I thought I understood large, complex organizations. Then I stepped into an 800,000-person firm and realized I had no idea.
That year tested me in ways I wasn't prepared for. My hiring manager and the leader of the team I joined both left within the first six months. For the first time in my life, I faced real health challenges — the kind that make you confront the fact that you are not, in fact, invincible. After a career's worth of tennis injuries, I thought I'd already learned that lesson. This felt completely different. At the same time, I was fighting to keep my dog alive and carrying the weight of being the sole breadwinner.
It was a lot to hold at once. And yet — somehow — I was told I was a top 1% hire and finished that year having hit 140% of my target.
I'm still not entirely sure how. But I think that's the point.
And yet, even with all of that, I knew something else about myself that I couldn't ignore. When you put me inside a highly hierarchical organization, I can't help but want to climb it. It's wired into me — the competitor, the athlete, always looking for the next level. But here's what a decade at Ericsson had already taught me: climbing hierarchies brings me far less joy than working on meaningful things with meaningful people. Every promotion felt important in the moment. And every one of them left me quietly wondering — is this it?
That year also taught me something humbling about money. Not in an abstract way — in a very real way.
North of $35,000 on my dog's brain surgery, MRIs, and radiation treatment. Another $10,000+ on my own health and physical therapy, trying to pull my lymphatic system and leg back together. That kind of real.
For the first time in my life, I truly felt and understood the value of money. Not as an abstract concept — but as a question that kept me up at night: what if I hadn't been able to pay for this?
What do people in less privileged situations do when they're faced with that choice? How hard must it be to look at a creature that has given you nine years of the purest, most unconditional love imaginable — and let finances make the decision for you?
I never want to be in that position. And that year made sure I never forget it.
So when HTEC found me, I wasn't just looking for a new role. I was looking for a different way to live and work. ✨
I was drawn to the leadership. To have the chance to build something meaningful. To be part of a smaller team that genuinely cares — where I could make a real difference, not just contribute to an already-moving machine. After 15+ years working behind some of the most recognized names in the industry, I kept asking myself a question I couldn't ignore:
How good am I, really, if I'm not hiding behind a big, bright logo?
Let's be honest with ourselves. Most of us are drawn to shiny objects — whatever "shiny" means to us. There's something that feels good about being in rooms of power, surrounded by prominent brands and brilliant people. I get it. I lived it. And I still feel it when I walk into those buildings.
But I found myself craving something different. More freedom. More autonomy. More of a chance to build and create. I wanted to step into a different culture and find out if I could still thrive — still make a positive impact. 🌱
So here I am. Still working at it. 💪
What stage are you in — chasing the shiny objects, or learning to let them go? 🎙️
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