A young colleague and friend will soon be leaving this office, going off into the blue yonder on a new adventure which, I hope, will bring her great joy and applause. It is not going to be an easy transition for her; it never is, even if you are moving on to something bigger and better. Somehow it is worse when it is a job that you move in and out of, even though you know well that it is not going to be for ever and ever, and that people you meet during your time employed there are not true-blue, never-to-be-forgotten friends. It still leaves a pang, a burst of tearfulness that is easily induced and more easily stemmed, and a feeling of being lost, rootless, strangely abandoned (even though you are the one doing the abandoning!).
But it is funny how you get attached to a job that is not too happily attached to you, though its attachment on your resume is well worth the lines of carefully chosen font it is printed in. My friend had a not-too-thrilling time in this organisation, even though she found a vast new forum for her work and thoroughly enjoyed meeting people, reading, writing, interacting, absorbing, exploring a world that, for her, was new and exciting and yet amazingly, universally familiar. She leaves here with some memories of strife, angst and struggle, nicely balanced by others of success, praise and several experiences worth saving in her life bank.
Going into a new job is always a frightening prospect. Will you manage to keep the post, by doing well, impressing the right people, staying true to yourself all the while? Will you make a mess, fail yourself and your employers, ignominiously slink out the door as furtively as possible when your tenure comes to an abrupt halt? Or will you play it safe and achieve a bland, middle-of-the-road professional existence that needs no effort and mandates no intensity of energy or involvement? What will your reception be like, especially from people you will work with and compete against? Will the cafeteria food be edible? Will the bathrooms be clean? So many questions, with each answer throwing up a host of new doubts…
Before you get into a new job, you have to leave the old one. That in itself is a long-drawn-out process. It starts with making the decision to leave, spurred by whatever that last straw is – could be a mean-minded boss with an ego the size of the building; perhaps a schedule that is far more than merely punishing; or maybe even a temptingly seductive offer from somewhere else. Questions are thrown at you relentlessly – why are you going, where are you going, how much are you going for, what will you do next, ad infinitum. Then you have the series of chats with various people up and down the hierarchy, backed by the barrage of advice, suggestions and other inputs from friends and colleagues alike. Finally comes the acceptance, at which stage there are forms to be filled in, hand-overs to be done and signatures collected certifying that you are bona fide leaving the company and are allowed to go, your dues (or at least the promise of) clutched in your sticky little hand.
Then comes the truly difficult part. The people you formed some sort of bond with have to be left behind. The once-boss who is now a staunch friend. The colleague you shared lunches and office gossip with. The buddy who brought you chocolate when you were blue and with whom you could exchange silly text messages that people to whom you forward them actually believe. Your last few days at work are a blur of farewell meals and ‘Remember when…?’s, totally useless presents and mad bouts of giggling, frantic networking and gathering of phone numbers, addresses and final words of wisdom. At the door there will be hugs, awkward and warm, mixed with nostalgia, promises to keep in touch and avowals of love and eternal remembrance.
And then, a month or so down the time-line, you will find all these little bits and pieces littering your home and your mind and throw most of them out…
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