Starting with Goodbye (And Hello Again)

Straight out of the gate, I want you to know that the title of this entry does not mean that I am giving up on this blog, despite failing to post for almost two months after launching it.  Nor does the title mean that I am dying.  Now that that’s been cleared up, let’s continue.

This past two weeks included a few coincidental markers for my recent job change.  May 25^th marked seven months since my last day at my previous job.  June 1^st marked two months since I dropped in to visit my former office after going out for lunch with some of my former co-workers.  Both of these points are what this post is about.

While I resigned from a few jobs in the past, this particular parting of ways was unlike any other I experienced.  Perhaps that’s because the opportunity was unanticipated (it’s wise to window shop now and again!), but I think a large part of it has to do with the fact that my departure proved to be unexpected to so many.  People come and go at all levels of a school district with regularity, so change in general is never a big surprise, but you can usually get a sense for the folks who are looking for a change before it happens.  Very few people at the office even knew I had a prospect brewing.

The haste with which I had to tell people my news compounded the shock factor.

When I first told my superiors that I was leaving, they implied that it would be a few days before they posted my position.  This suggested that I had time to share the news with the friends and colleagues that meant so much to me in a deliberate and meaningful way.  That timeline didn’t last very long.

I take it as a badge of honor that my superiors deemed it necessary to post my soon-to-be open position far faster than the norm for that school district.  At the same time, however, my timeline for sharing my news was truncated to just a few hours before a district-wide email would go out and announce it in no uncertain terms that I was heading for the exit.

Not long after the sudden change-up, I had to tell my department co-workers in a team meeting.  Rather impersonal, and it left me with even less time to make my rounds to the people I interacted with on a regular basis between my job duties and through serving on the district office social committee.  I tried to tell people as privately as possible, but I didn’t have time to pull people aside into my office for an extended conversation.  One of my closest co-workers was out of the office that day, so I had to call them so they didn’t find out via the pending mass email.  It was less than ideal circumstances, but you don’t really get to gripe about these details when you’re the one throwing a bucket of gravel into a well-oiled machine.

As the one who just spent weeks interviewing, waiting, and finalizing the deal, it was all settled in my mind.  It wasn’t going to be pleasant, but it was down to the formality of saying goodbye.  Or so I thought.  I was ready to hear tones of disappointment coupled with begrudging congratulations.  Likewise, I was ready to feel that tug of emotion within myself that comes with the act of severing ties with good people I care about.

What I wasn’t prepared for was how some of the reactions from my co-workers would impact me.

The sudden twitch of the head, short and sharp intakes of breath, watery eyes, and even a few outright tearful embraces- these reactions stunned me.  Not everyone I broke the news to had these kinds of reactions, but I was surprised by how many did.  As an introvert, I prefer deeper and more meaningful relationships (just with fewer people).  Apparently, I had succeeded without realizing it.  In those moments of sharing my news, I became aware of how much my feelings for these people were reciprocated.

This of course made the next two weeks difficult.  When changing jobs, it’s natural to have doubts about whether you are up to the task of shedding old routines and habits.  New duties and processes seem daunting at first, but you tough it out and work through it.  Learning in such a visceral way how much I meant to people who had come to mean a lot to me awoke in me a sense of dread.  It highlighted just how alone I would be at my new job as I ascend the learning curve.

Of course my new supervisors and co-workers would be there to help me along the way.  Of course I still had my family to back me up as I row along in a sea of newness.  But realizing that choosing a new job also means choosing to remove the people who were your support network for 40+ hours a week- the people who helped get you through the challenges and stresses of the day when you can’t turn your work brain off- is somewhat terrifying.  You realize that you can’t replace people like these in short order, so you’re left feeling relationally vulnerable as well.

This vulnerability and ensuing (but temporary) loneliness make me glad that I waited as long as I did before popping back in for a visit.  April Fool’s Day is probably not the best day to randomly show up at your former place of employment, but that was pure coincidence.  I was taking a half-day to run errands before heading to an away game for one of my daughters’ sports teams.  Still, it was just over five months after packing the last of my belongings in a cardboard box, turning in my access badge, and walking out the door.  That may be too soon for some, but it was just right for me.  I was making connections at my new job, and I was working my way along that learning curve.

Going back is weird.  Maybe it’s best not to do it.

There was no weirdness with the people.  It was all wide eyes, smiles, and rising vocal intonation.  It was great to catch up with some of the co-workers that I was most fond of.  I was disappointed that all of my former department superiors were either out of the office or in meetings.  That deprived me of the chance to reconnect with those long-standing relationships and achieve the kind of catharsis that comes with two parties assuring each other that they’re doing okay and on the right track.  Just because I left doesn’t mean I don’t care.

The weirdness came entirely from just being back in that space.  The halls and offices that were once so intimate and familiar to me were no longer mine (to whatever degree they ever really belonged to me).  Now these spaces were just part of hindsight.  The vast majority of the memories of that place were good or great, but going back felt a lot like walking through a museum of my own nostalgia- the warmth of memory, but at a distance just out of reach to embrace.  I made a conscious decision not to peek into my former office.  It’s not mine anymore; it belongs to someone else, and they should occupy it as they see fit.

Maybe I will go back another time months from now.  Had I gone back any sooner, it would have disrupted my re-rooting process.  I’m sure of that.  We can go back and forth between objects and places, but we can’t go back in time.  Until physicists solve that sticky wicket, all we can do is reunite at a familiar place in a new time and recall moments from the recesses our brains.  In time, the details blur, leaving a canvas of emotions and memories that resemble a chalk painting- not perfectly defined, but still perfectly beautiful.

In the end, it’s not the place that mattered to me.  It’s the people.  Several of those people still matter to me, so if I can remain in touch with them and spend time with them outside of that space, that will bring me joy.  I am not good at keeping in touch and maintaining friendships, so this is a challenge perhaps far greater than the learning curve at my new job.  I need to find the will to make the effort amidst all the other busyness of life.

If you are one of those people who showed me the power of relational joy in that moment, please keep in touch.  You made the hard days bearable.  You made the good days leave a permanent mark.  You made a difference, oftentimes without trying or knowing.  I wish I could have told you this to your face, but I’ve been trying to come up with the words to express it for months.  This post still falls short, but it’s what I could wring out of my brain after all this time.  Too much longer and, perhaps, even those details would have become fuzzy.

Let’s meet again some sunny day.