As I sat at my office desk, dressed in a colourful Zara suit that oozed confidence, self-assurance and progress, I wondered what would become of me. I looked around at half-filled garbage bags and a half-filled box of memorabilia, unsure of whether it was right to wipe myself from my office or wipe the memory of myself from a company that I’d respected. It was a Wednesday, the last day of September 2020 and suddenly, I would be untethered - unmoored from a company I’d devoted half a dozen years to and a vocation that I’d given over a decade of my life to. I hadn’t chosen that vocation - it had chosen me. I hadn’t chosen the company either - it had acquired me when it bought the company I worked at.
I sat back and reflected on all I’d learned and all I’d earned: the friendships, the favour, the privileges, the setbacks, the discontentments, the failures, the tears, the fears, the health conditions. My heart rate increased as I wondered if I’d be able to do without the constant dumps of adrenaline that were part and parcel of being in a company that had too many large dreams and too few devoted employees to see them actualised. I wondered if I could cope without the rush, the high of meeting tight deadlines, the long hours, and being leaned on by too many people. I wondered if I was sabotaging myself by giving up something that had filled my vision for so many years - eclipsed faith obligations, family obligations and friendships. I wondered if my work family would easily replace me in their thoughts and affections, thereby killing the value I’d built for myself through them.
‘Why’d I resign? What’s to become of me?’
And then when the tide of fears were about to overwhelm me, I felt God say, “Peace, be still” and He settled me. He showed me a glimpse of what was behind the image I’d built up in front of me. He gave me hope for more, a life outside of what I’d given myself to. He reminded me that I was doing the right thing; that even when it got hard, He would be with me, walking with me and taking care of me. He would wean me and I would be well.
I got back to packing, preparing myself for the goodbye speech that still had to be written, to visit the people that still had to be spoken to, to issue the goodbyes to those who’d burrowed their way into my heart. I would miss those people, my team, my boss.
My packing was soon interrupted by the surprise party they’d planned for me - the numbers attending kept small due to the pandemic. I listened and responded to goodbyes, shed tears and felt strongly that there would be mutual missing - that I was yet important to people I considered important to me.
In the months that followed that last day I have to admit that it comforted me to see that I was still missed - that my position hadn’t been promptly and sufficiently filled, nor the memory of me wiped out. In the months that passed my coworkers sometimes sought me out for advice and direction and I listened to their grievances. I still remembered how to execute most of the processes - so why not help when it didn’t cost me anything to do so? They needed time to stop leaning on me and now, a year later, they are standing tall.
Is it wrong for me to feel comfort from that? I don’t know, but I see it as God’s kindness. Even as He weaned me, He let me know that my relationships with the company and people weren’t loveless and vapid.
Yes, I sometimes miss working there and sometimes I miss the rush, but I don’t regret leaving. I don’t regret moving on to another chapter - a chapter that’s still being written and that I have no idea of what the plot is nor where the story’s going. But after a year of reflecting on what's passed, after sharing some of what this journey has been with you, I know that it’s going to be great.
