A New Day

I wonder what my mother would say.  

My father would be very proud, I know.  When I started this job back in 1999 he was in tears.  From day one, every time I saw him he would comment on how proud he was and how smart I was.  At the time I thought he was just doing what any dad would do.  I mean, I took a job answering the phone.  That doesn't exactly require genius status, dad. That job grew into something bigger and year by year he would continuously show me love and tell me how proud he was.  He was dealing with so many battles within himself, but he always let me know how he felt about me.  God, I miss him.  My mother never really had a chance to get to know who I was, nor I, her. I was just a baby when God took her from me. I know who she was based on what my family tells me.  And I like to believe she's been watching over me all these years.  But there's a part of me that really wishes I could hear her tell me she's proud of me too.  I'm 47 years old.  I'm not a child. I don't know why the child in me is so needy.  But she is. 

Things have changed a lot since 1999.  When I was hired in, the people I worked for had been doing what they do for quite a while.  They were 'seasoned'.  Everyone welcomed me and made me feel like family, right from the start.  They were very respectful, kind, supportive, understanding, accommodating and helpful.  They took a chance on me, a 23 year old single mother with little to no work history and baggage that could sink a ship. I thought I'd be here a few weeks or months.  Over those years they helped me develop more skills and inadvertently taught me life lessons I wasn't learning elsewhere.  I looked up to them and respected them.  Little by little they started to leave this office and new blood would arrive.  So many times I wanted to make changes in my life that would take me somewhere else, somewhere I could grow even more, learn even more, and have the opportunity to provide more for my family. I was built up so much and believed that I was needed around here.  I was an important part of the operations of this office as a whole, and to each of my bosses.  They would tell their clients that I ran the place, that I was the bulldog that got things done. In the last 10 years I continued to do all the things I'd always done but the atmosphere around me was changing. I still loved my job but it was beginning to feel less like the laid back, family-like atmosphere and more like actual work. I started looking around to see what other opportunities were out there.  I had a resume put together in case I somehow found the bravery and courage to step outside this box. I had a few job offers from word of mouth but when I weighed all the things I considered benefits, my heart said it wasn't worth it.  It wasn't worth the stress of starting over and worrying about the longevity or security of something new. It wasn't for lack of being grateful for what I had.  I counted my blessings regularly and was happy just to have a job.  I even talked my way out of it, telling myself that everyone goes through it at some point when they've been in the same place for a long time.  Work gets stressful. It's not always fun.  Right? I guess I just felt like things were getting too complacent. Too comfortable.  Every time we welcomed someone new, my anxiety would kick in. I'd ask myself silently if they would be a challenge or if they would be like my previous work family.  So many changes.  So much time.  I feared the newbies wouldn't even like me the way everyone else seemed to.  They added more and more responsibilities, which wasn't an issue.  I like being busy and it was never anything I couldn't handle.  I liked that they trusted me that way too. That spoke to me.  They didn't do things the same way that others did, but they still let me know they appreciated me.  And no two are equal. They showed their gratitude in different ways.  I got to know them, individually, and learned their needs as it pertained to my abilities.  I almost let disappointment get the best of me twice when I packed up all my belongings and had one foot out the door. But I silenced that inner child and put on my big girl panties. I felt, so many times, like I was going above and beyond.  I wanted them to know that I cared.  I wanted to help. I wanted them to continue to trust that I was good for their business.  I wasn't perfect, no one is. But my grandma always said, as long as you are giving it your best shot, that's what matters most.  I gave it my best shot. I gave it more than my best shot.  I'm embarrassed when I think about how many times I came home in tears because my own feelings got in the way.  I failed at keeping things professional the second that first tear ran down my cheek.  But why did I cry? I cried when I felt like I fell short on the job. My amazing husband was there to comfort me and talk sense into me.  He was my calm, my reality check, my rock. I've been humbled in a lot of ways as I've navigated my way through this job for 23 years.  I've been in positions where I could relate to some of the clients and/or the situations they were in because of my own life experiences.  My job was never just about answering the phones, punctuality, words per minute or dollars per hour.  My job has not only meant survival for me and my family but it has also been the place where I've lived, loved and grown, emotionally and professionally. Because of this job, I can now put both feet out the door, spread my wings, and fly. 

Here I sit, reminiscing and remembering and somewhat defending my years here at this office. In 24 days I will be walking out the door for the last time, saying goodbye for the last time, calling this home for the last time.  I'll never climb these stairs, lock these doors, or worry about these somewhat functional light switches ever again. I'll never place another office supply order, send another email with my office manager signature, eat lunch in this kitchen, charge this ring doorbell battery, empty this trash can...

Saying goodbye is hard.  

This is family. This is home.  This is essentially ending a relationship. I'm not leaving on bad terms, but why do I feel like I am? Why do I feel like this shouldn't be this hard? Why is that child in me curled up in a proverbial corner, sobbing, wishing for just one extended hand, one pat on the back, one smidge of gratitude, one little sign that I'm not the only one that feels like this was more than a job, it was a relationship? The atmosphere is so tense, so volatile. It seems like I am the only one that realized I had room to grow. But I know deep down, that's just the child in me.  Or maybe, they just never thought I would leave. 

From the time I started actively looking for another job I have been upfront and honest and very forthcoming about my intentions with everyone in this office.  I knew the position they were in and I knew that growth was no longer an option for me.  I didn't share my intentions with them as some sort of ploy to extort more money from them.  Even if they tried, I knew it wouldn't be enough to stop me from wanting and needing and looking for more.  Not just more money.  More security, more freedom, more goals, more opportunities.  I knew I had reached a point where I needed more and they were not, nor were they really ever, going to be in a position to give it to me. I had to do what I had to do for myself and my family.  I am not so blind by my own feelings that I can't see how this is affecting the office.  They have to continue to do business while they search for new help.  And in today's society, that's quite the task. It's hard to find good help.  It's really hard to find good help that is willing to do it for a certain amount of money. I am fully aware of how stressful that process is and how scary it is to have to put your trust in someone new.  Part of my decision to stay here as long as I did was due to that acknowledgment.  I care about everyone in this office and a giant part of me didn't want to put them in that position.  Like any place of business, you have priorities.  First on that list for my office is finding good help, and fast.  I'm trying to do what I can to help that happen and wish that I could do more. A lot more. And I'll always wish I could just stay.

Today, I'll continue to do all the things I've done for 23 years.  I'll say goodbye, knowing that I'll see them again tomorrow.  Today, I'll be the office manager, the secretary, the administrative assistant, the link in the chain that pulls the horse, the familiar voice that everyone hears, the employee that loves her job. Yesterday is long gone and with it goes half of my life.  Yesterday holds all my trials and tribulations, my victories and my defeats, my accomplishments and my losses.  There are 12 people who may never know the impact they had on my life.  12 people who have molded me, held me together, guided me, taught me, loved me and fought for me.  12 people who will never, ever be forgotten, but revered for what they represent to me.  They are not just bosses, attorneys, colleagues and friends. They are family.

Tomorrow is not far away.  It holds my breath. It holds hope and knowledge. It holds adventure and promise. Tomorrow is a journey to something bigger, better, and more fulfilling. In 24 days, tomorrow will look so much different.

Tomorrow is a new day.