Goodbye

I was about six when I told my mother, with subdued distress, that I didn't want to die but neither did I want to live forever.

It's my earliest memory of anxiety. Having become aware of the implications of an unstoppable clock, the struggle between holding on and moving on played out for the first time in a mind that wasn't prepared for it.

Seven years later, when my parents bought me the dog I'd been promised for my eighth birthday, my excitement quickly turned to anxiety. Where any ordinary kid would have been straight out into the backyard playing with and getting to know their new pet, I was consumed with thoughts about how I was that I was going to get attached to this dog and someday it was going to die, which would hurt me.

The only certainty when something begins is that it will end.

Yesterday was the end of an era, finishing up at a job and with people who have been at the centre of my life for five and a half years; yet a job I've been trying to get away from for almost two years. Through a long and frustrating job search the thought of moving on was a dream that felt like it would never be realised. Now the time has come it is, of course, a little sad. That's life.

Carrying a healthy dose of narcissism, I always liked the idea of watching my own funeral. The ultimate celebration of you - where everyone dwells on the nice things and says the words they never did while you were around.

I found this farewell flattering but a little over-the-top and drawn-out. In hindsight, I'd prefer to have said a few quick, quiet goodbyes to the important people and sneaking off stage would have been nice, as opposed to many farewell conversations with people I'm unlikely to ever see again. It's imperative to have the future potential of contact to make a goodbye easier; it's difficult to say to someone you like 'So, all the best with the rest of your life'.

So vague plans are made with the people that matter, and illusionary plans alluded to to others as you say 'Seeya 'round' (i.e. it's been great, but...). And, of course, there are those with whom it's just easier to avoid and move on altogether.

After five and a half years it was almost a bit of a shock that it's now over, and a stark reminder of the ever-changing nature of life. I was a little melancholy during the week, not helped by reading about Albert Camus, but while it's the end of an era it's not as dramatic as all that.

Sure, everything ends. The only certainty with a beginning is the unavoidable ending. Everything you do will come to an end, every person you ever know you will someday say goodbye to, or miss the opportunity. This past week has made me think how horrible it must be to know you're dying and having to say real goodbyes.

It's easy to be nihilistic and question the meaning of things in this state of mind, but whether you believe in fate, reincarnation, an afterlife or a dead-end road, it's the moment that matters. Even Camus was a big football fan, a superficial interest that really has little meaning but can bring great joy.

Everything passes, one day all will be gone, in the end life is a lonely, individual experience; but why get caught up in all that when it just distracts from the beauty of the moment. Memories, experiences and relationships maketh the man (and woman). The moment is all there ever is - enjoy it, be immersed in it, and allow yourself to let go when the time comes.

The dog is fifteen now, a little less energetic but still running around. I'll keep in touch, at least for a while, with a few people from the job who are worth having in my life. I will take many learnings and good experiences with me, and move on to a new, exciting phase of life.

You can take this job and re-staff it!

Last week I got a new job!

*applause*

Thanks, I’m really excited actually. Finally, I’m getting a decent pay rise! Meanwhile I’m helping to reframe my current position description so they can hire someone internally on a higher band.

Anyway, as many have been quick to point out, it has been a long time coming.

It’s been about two years since I decided it was time to start looking around for new opportunities, and closer to three since I started thinking about it. Frankly, I wasn’t too fussed until about eighteen months ago when the impenetrable ceiling of an increasingly dead-end role gradually squeezed the enthusiasm out of me.

About that time, at the first meeting of the newly appointed Social Club Committee (yes, yes) I used my (optimistically phrased) likely departure as an argument against being made President - it was clearly a highly-sought position. Clearly I am too popular – or easy – because I was talked into doing it. Embarrassingly, I saw out the year, plus another five months.

After a few rejections proved finding a job wasn’t going to be as easy as I hoped, I got serious about the hunt. I started telling me people about my search (including at work) in case they knew of opportunities. I spent a couple of sessions with – and a substantial amount of money on – a careers counsellor. I registered with job agencies.

The careers counsellor was expensive but worthwhile; she helped me get my resume and applications to a standard that actually got me through to a few interviews.

The agencies were next to useless. Dixons were attentive if nothing else; they got in touch straight away and did find me a few potential roles, but when they called it was usually just to check in and make sure I was still in the market. More than I can say for Hudson or Hays who I never even heard from. I know you need to chase them up, but I was too busy applying for jobs myself.

Applications are fucking tedious. The biggest relief is probably that I no longer have to write responses to Key Selection Criteria! The same criteria come up time after time, with just subtle differences that make the copy-and-paste method fraught with danger. A couple of times I found mistakes and anomalies in text I pasted in from an application already sent off. That’s not a good look when your resume boasts excellent editing and proofing skills and you are applying for communications roles! But sometimes there was plenty of time to spend on an application, other times there were multiple due within a few days and the rush was too much to avoid the temptation of short cuts.

Maybe it cost me an interview or two, who knows. Anyway, eight interviews were enough.

The first few were intimidating, yet I found myself surprisingly relaxed about the last couple, for which I did almost no preparation. If you actually have the experience for the role and know yourself reasonably well, unnecessary preparation might just build anxiety.

Interviews involve lots of bullshit; the worst workplace kind – HR bullshit. Questions about relevant experience where you indulge in a little bullshitting of your own (or the crucial ‘self-sell’) to give examples of times you used your initiative / creativity / negotiation skills to solve a problem / resolve a conflict and how wonderful the outcome was. I slowly got reasonably good at this – after all, I’m an Arts graduate.

Good interviewers make a huge difference. If they’re easy-going and have a conversational style it helps bring out everyone’s real personality and facilitates genuine discussion. Bad ones read the questions and take notes while you waffle on for fear of an awkward silence indicating an inadequate response. I was told after one interview I’d gone on too much. Just a polite ‘Ok, shut up now,’ would have been nice.

After my seventh unsuccessful interview I slumped into a rut and took a few days off the search before getting back into it with a flurry of applications. And fuck me if things didn’t turn around faster than Brendan Fevola could spend a dole cheque.

Just seven days separated the day of application and the day of offer, with two interviews squeezed in the middle. I almost didn’t apply either, the deadline (and I always work to deadline) being a Sunday, making it more difficult to find time to prepare the application than on a work day.

So after nearly 40 applications in 12 months, it felt good to be able to resign. I was more tactful than when I resigned Dan Murphy’s a few years ago where I told my manager, in front of other staff, that we needed ‘to talk about my future here – in that I don’t have one.’

And now I am actually moving on, I’m starting to realise all the things and people I’ll miss, and getting a little nostalgic about my five and a half years at this workplace. It has been a good place to work, I just outgrew my role … a while ago.

And while my hunt felt like an epic journey, I got some perspective last week via a friend who knows someone in Spain that has put in 3200 applications in 12 months and still not found a job.

I am feeling pretty lucky right about now.