The last real Monday
“The next station is Bond Street. Alight here for…”
… “Alight here for your amazing new dream job!”.
This is how I used to finish the tube lady’s announcement, every morning, of the first few months of my new job in London. It was with an immense sense of pride that I exited the sliding doors of the cramped tube each day. The standoffish crowds, noses deep in The Metro, were all actors in that new play I seemed to be taking a central role in, chest puffed with pride – I was a working London girl!
I had wanted this job… really bad. I had dreamed about it, visualised it, asked for it and then, when the opportunity arose, worked my ass for it and got it.
And now, three years and a bit later, I am mere hours away from walking away, the Bond street tube doors sliding behind my back one last time before I embark on a new journey.
Leaving the office will not be difficult. It has been months since I’ve been at peace with the idea. All my affairs are in order, my drawers cleaned out and leaving do’s booked. Leaving the people will be a bit harder but made much easier by the fact that I take away some strong friendships from my time here.
However, leaving the idea of what this job represents is unquestionably the most difficult part.
Like with anything in life, we tend to label pretty much everything. I certainly did it here – an achievement, reaching a goal, “growing up”, stability and security and all those things we should want in life. All those things a responsible young adult could ever possibly want – with a solid retirement plan to top it all off! The label was very bright and appealing – just like that shiny Bond Street tube station platform…
Like with any process of deconstruction, disassembling my own idea of what this job represented to me took time. It had to be done in stages. Understanding the structure of each layer of what I associated to it and how it related to me and then understanding that it was not me.
It was a job. As simple as that. Albeit the best one I’ve ever had, one I could have only dreamed of (and did!) – but a simple job nonetheless.
Once the resignation had been submitted, there was no turning back. And then once the deconstruction achieved, no turning back was required either. The long march had begun and it was most certainly leading away from the crammed London tube carriages and to more delicately perfumed pastures. One where, hopefully, labels matter a little less.