You ever notice how LinkedIn has only one plot line? Yeah, it’s called: “I’m happy to share that I’m starting a new position as…” I tell you this line has more reruns than Friends.
If you smell a sense of authority in the caption above, let me tell you that I am trepidation personified as I draft this. And if you see this as some kind of forensic investigation, you might be partly right.
Caveat Emptor(Reader Beware): This is an honest attempt. And as I experiment with that, thought might as well do a deep dive into the peculiar psychology of professional announcements.
So there I was, scrolling through LinkedIn at 2 AM (as one does when one’s life choices need serious examination), when I stumbled upon the 27th “I’m happy to share that I’m starting a new position as…”post of the day. And suddenly, like a caffeine-fueled anthropologist discovering a new tribal ritual, I found myself asking: What’s really going on here?
Let’s get on with it and break down this fascinating specimen( no lab coats required):
” I’m happy to share that I am starting in a new position as XXX at XXX “.
Translation : “I’m contractually obligated by the unwritten rules of professional networking to appear ecstatic about this career move, regardless of whether I was headhunted by Google or just escaped a toxic workplace that made Chernobyl look like a wellness retreat.”
(This one comes from the Republic of Gratitude)- “I want to thank [previous company] for the incredible journey…”
Translation: “I will now perform the corporate equivalent of thanking the Academy, even though my previous boss once made me rewrite a two-line email seventeen times because the font wasn’t ‘strategic’ enough.”
Yet another one that is competing for The Humble Brag Finale– ” “Excited for this new chapter…”
Translation: “I’ve successfully convinced someone else to pay me money. In this economy. Please validate my existence.”
This one comes straight from the Valley of Nostalgia Overture- ” My time at [Previous Company] was invaluable. I learned so much, especially how to operate the microwave and which meeting rooms have the best Wi-Fi. I want to thank everyone, especially Brenda from Accounts Payable who once smiled at me in the elevator.”
Some seem to seeking validation like an Insecurity Vanquisher– This post is a cry for help wrapped in corporate jargon. They’ve just left the comfort of a job they knew how to do, where they knew which coffee mug was theirs. Now, they’re adrift in a sea of new acronyms. The LinkedIn post is a life raft. Every “Congratulations!” comment is a flare of validation, a tiny hit of dopamine that whispers, “You didn’t make a catastrophic error. Probably.”
The subtext here isn’t arrogance; it’s vulnerability masquerading as confidence. They’re not telling you they’re great; they’re asking you to tell them they’ll be okay.
Then there are these bunch of corporate hostages. Which is why we must consider and rope in the unwilling participant. You can almost taste the coercion in the text. It’s too polished, too full of branded hashtags (#
This post was clearly drafted by Marcia in Marketing, who cornered them by the printer and said, “We need you to post this. Gary in Sales only got 12 likes on his, and we need to beat that. It’s for the brand.” The employee’s own personality has been surgically removed and replaced with key messaging points. They’d rather be anywhere else than writing this post. Probably updating their actual, private, anonymous Twitter account with: “First day at the new gig. Help.”
Welcome to the post that is a philosophical take-letting go of a previous self. Every exit is an entry somewhere. Perhaps the most beautiful interpretation is that this post is a funeral for a former version of oneself. They are publicly closing a chapter. It’s a ritualistic shedding of skin. The “thank you” to the old company is genuine—it’s an acknowledgment of the person that job helped them become, for better or worse.
They are announcing the death of the “Senior Executive, Operations” and the birth of the “Head of Delivering Awesome.” It’s a rebirth. With slightly better health insurance.
There it is. We have enough evidence, don’t we? The most crowded temple of modern worship. Not Tirupati. Not Mecca. Not the Vatican. You guessed it- LinkedIn.
And the loudest chant in this holy shrine of professional self-expression?
“I’m happy to share that I’m starting a new position as…”
A line so standardised it deserves its own ISO certification. And the coveted blue tick.
But what is it, really? A declaration? A confession? Therapy disguised as gratitude? Corporate Horlicks for the soul? Or a notice to ex-colleagues: “Guess who moved on first?”
The jury is still out on why the unflinching emphasis on “happy”? Nobody says “I’m moderately okay to announce a new position.” Or “I’m borderline depressed to let you know I’ve accepted employment.”
It’s always “happy.” As if happiness is written into the KPI of the announcement. Maybe HR slips it into the offer letter:
Position: Vice President, Market Expansion
CTC: Respectably above cousin’s salary
Condition: Must announce with happiness on LinkedIn
I shouldn’t miss out on telling you that there is one variety that stands out, hands down. The master tagger. Ten mentors, three previous managers, the chaiwala from the parking lot—everyone is name-dropped, because gratitude is LinkedIn’s legal tender.
And of course the poets in residence: “Thrilled to begin a new journey, turning pages in my life’s career novel.” Gulzar, watch out!
Which is when you notice unabashed neutrality which goes something like this, a stoic monk if you will: ” Starting a new role. That’s all.” (This guy is fried but refuses to admit it.)
You would have already seen the paradox here. On one hand, it’s insecurity covered in confetti. On the other, it’s a coded hug. A way of saying: “I survived. I still matter. Clap for me.”
And maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Because for every roll-eye inducing “I’m happy to share…”, there’s someone reading it at 2 a.m. thinking, maybe I’ll get out too.
So next time you see that familiar phrase, resist the snark for a second. Click the like. Clap along. Comment positively. Because in its own awkward, templated way, it’s just humanity leaking through LinkedIn’s algorithm.
And if you really want to shake things up? Post this instead:
“I’m happy to share that I’m still unemployed. Please endorse me for resilience.”
So, the next time you see that post, don’t roll your eyes. Hit like. Because behind every “I’m happy to share…” is one brave soul battling FOMO, EMIs, and imposter syndrome—armed with nothing but Canva graphics and hashtags.
And yes, one day you’ll see me post it too. “I’m happy to share that I’m starting a new position as… The World’s First Chief Officer of Pretending To Look Busy On Zoom.”
Thank you, good day, and don’t forget to endorse me for Strategic Sarcasm!
PS: Human beings are rough drafts that continually mistake themselves for the final story, then gasp as the plot changes on the page of living.