In late 2001 I got laid off.
I’d been working a little over five years after college and thought I had everything figured out. Then came the shock. Here’s the story of the time I backed out of my Peace Corps mission to Ukraine.
I was in IT support for a big multinational. It was the place where I watched an old friend dramatically quit his cubicle job. After 9/11, everyone was on edge, and a recession hit a few months later. Layoffs picked up. I remember looking at the $1,000 Tag Heuer I’d bought myself that August after a 5% raise and feeling pretty confident about my future at Global Domination, Inc. Then my boss tearfully told me I was being let go. I tried to be upbeat—“It happens. I’ll be fine.”—but about 500 others got the same news that day. It sucked.
I went home, stewed for a few hours, then rode my bike through the woods and around one of Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes to clear my head. I tossed around ideas: join the military? Peace Corps? That night my girlfriend tried to cheer me up and we went to Nye’s Polonaise Room in downtown Minneapolis. The karaoke piano bar wasn’t helping my mood.
Weeks of job applications and dead-end recruiter calls wore me out. Even the jobs I’d written off earlier had dried up. I started worrying about pawning the watch. At least my roommate’s rent check kept me afloat for a while, but I knew that wouldn’t last forever once unemployment ran out.
I had friends overseas, so the Peace Corps started to look appealing. If I couldn’t find work I loved in the U.S., I could at least do something meaningful abroad—even if it paid almost nothing. I filled out the long application, wrote an essay or two, and got friends to write recommendation letters.
After a few weeks I forgot about it. Maybe they were swamped with applicants, or maybe they wanted to see who was serious. Life went on—I even took a Caribbean cruise with three buddies I’d booked before getting canned. When I got back, my girlfriend dumped me. Not exactly the post-vacation glow I’d hoped for. Silver lining: I decided to focus on my part-time MBA full time.
I dove into schoolwork and used a home equity loan to keep going. A year later I had my MBA. Job hunting still stunk nine months after getting laid off, but I eventually landed a decent role managing help desk agents at another Fortune 500. I thought, let’s give office life another shot.
Then the letter arrived: “You have been accepted to the Peace Corps, with a mission in Ukraine. Start packing.” Seriously? Now they get back to me? I would’ve left a year earlier when everything fell apart. But here they were, offering me a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
A week after the acceptance I heard from my ex and, suddenly, we were back together. I was an idiot for letting that affect me. Setting that aside, I had to get ready fast. My Ukrainian was nonexistent and my Russian was rusty at best. I’d also sold my townhouse—why? I thought selling was smarter than renting it out for two-plus years, and in 2002 the market was strong, so I made a nice profit.
I became a minimalist overnight. I rented a storage locker for my furniture and hauled everything there—what a pain to move and pay to store it. Meanwhile, my relationship with my ex got more serious, more so than the fantasy of a life with Svetlana or Natasha.
By the time the sale closed, departure was approaching. I had read blogs from volunteers and knew roughly what to expect. I had my papers in order, my converter and travel journal packed, and a few months to go. At work I kept it low-key, imagining walking out on my last day, leaving lunch on my desk.
Preparing meant shots, blood tests, and lots of paperwork. As I checked financial tasks, I thought about what two and a half years abroad would do to my retirement savings. I later estimated the decision would cost me about $300,000 in retirement at age 65—the opportunity cost of not putting roughly $15,000 a year into a 401(k) for three years in my late 20s. But it wasn’t always about money.
Then came the call I’ll never forget. I told my Peace Corps rep I’d decided not to accept the invitation to Ukraine. My priority had shifted: I needed to find a place to live since I’d sold my house and the closing was soon. Friends and family were happy I stayed—I felt loved and supported, which mattered a lot.
Looking back, this is one of my biggest regrets. I’d committed to something important and then backed out. I’d even met a Ukraine volunteer on break in Minnesota a month earlier and followed her blog; it felt like I’d wasted her time. I now try to make local community service a priority—maybe not the grand adventure of the Peace Corps, but valuable nonetheless.
I’m much more careful about commitments now. A lot of work went into vetting and preparing me; I hope the Corps filled my spot quickly. A key lesson: don’t let money fears keep you from big adventures early in life. Who knows—after Peace Corps, I might have landed a better job and learned another language.
As for getting back together with my ex, that ended within a few months of my decision to stay. No regrets there.
Backing out of such a big commitment isn’t something I’m proud of, but I have my reasons. As of 2022 I’m donating a healthy chunk to UNICEF’s Ukraine relief efforts. Please give what you can—and if your employer matches donations, take advantage of it.
Do you have Peace Corps or similar NGO experience? Please share in the comments.
(Yes, my first time being a landlord turned out to be a smart move—when you’re single and own a house, rent out that spare room.)