Three weeks ago I changed jobs. In itself, it’s an unremarkable event. People do it every day but when you think about it it’s quite strange that we take the huge changes that this encompasses in our stride.
On a Friday I sat at the desk I’d sat at for 4 years, 5 days a week, 9 am to 5.30pm (and often later) for 48 weeks of the year. Around me were a bunch of people whom, by now I knew intimately as I spent more waking hours with them than I did my wife. I knew most of their partner’s names, their children’s names and their main interests. I knew their sense of humour if they were happy today or not. I knew what they ate for lunch and what made them laugh. They also knew me.
We’d been through a lot together. We were a team. I couldn’t do my bit until several others had completed theirs and once a month we worked hell for leather for 5 days to hit tight deadlines. Above and beyond me in the process sat another guy and above him another again who could only get their job done when I’d pressed the button on my work.
In the past 4 years, we’d lost hundreds of staff to redundancy, had 3 managing directors, flirted with examinership, moved offices and built almost 20 rescue plans to save the business. I’m amazed no one died from the stress of it all. OK, my hair has begun to go grey a bit but I was coping quite well compared to others. One was twice admitted to A&E and ultimately had to quit. Others went on sick leave for months.
It was at times a depressing experience and we developed an “in the trenches” dark sense of humour. The future was uncertain and each new rescue plan, launched by a new suited leader at a gather round sounded sadly similar to the previous ones launched by the last guy. Sales fell and staff were cut, sales fell further, more staff were cut and on it went. For the survivors, the phrase “swopping seats on the Titanic” came to mind.
One guy, parachuted in to turn the business around, announced his plans saying “I’m on a bus that will take us to a profitable place. I only want people on this bus who are committed to making this journey with me. If you don’t want to come you’d better leave now” The audience reaction was two minutes of complete silence and no one moved a muscle. His two-year bus ride to corporate salvation lasted 8 months as new group management decided he shouldn’t be on the bus and slipped in a new driver in his place!
I could contrast those years above with the life I had in several companies that were making money while I worked there. The atmosphere was completely different. People by and large went to work happy and the management of those concerns occasionally made small gestures to staff that made them even happier. For example ice creams given to all on hot sunny days. “Mark, your masseur is ready for you now”. An evening out, a day at the races, a two-day company gathering at an island hotel for team building and effort recognition. I could go on but you get the drift.
People in profitable businesses were also nicer to each other. They worked without fear of job loss and shared information readily for the “greater good”. They lived happy lives with “up” people and a mood of success permeated the office air. People in the loss-making businesses lived more stressful lives and worked in silence for long parts of the day. At times it felt like we worked in a public library or an examination hall. They ring-fenced their turf, adopted defensive tactics and generally took much longer to accept newcomers as one of the team. However once accepted as a team member their friendship and help was unlimited.
Working in a place that is losing money is a pressurized and unpleasant experience and it’s difficult to leave the worries at the office door however if you don’t they can come home with you and sour your personal life too.
On Monday 3 weeks ago I didn’t go to normal workplace. I didn’t see the old crew of familiar faces. I didn’t log into the PC get down to work. I didn’t use my security tag to flash it three times to get to the toilet or to access the canteen to make myself a cup of coffee. I went somewhere else where I only knew one person.
I suited up and knocked on a door in a town 160 kilometres away. I met a whole bunch of new people, a brand new laptop, a new phone and a new set of duties. Almost overnight I threw away my old life and replaced it with a new one.
Do you not find it strange that we expect ourselves to immediately adapt to such changes and to just carry on?
I do. It just struck me today that what we do regularly in life is in changing jobs, which throws all our daily routines up in the air is that it forces us to accept new challenges in new places with new people. In some ways, it’s like being reborn.
You are the man from afar. No-one knows anything about you. You can start life afresh with the slate wiped clean and an opportunity to shine. You can, however, view it negatively and see the challenges it brings but I’m upbeat about the future so bring it on!
Keeping in Touch
Being a man (and I have no scientific basis to lay this at men’s doors), I believe we men are very poor at keeping in contact with our past life and I fully expect to lose contact with the old team and to never see or hear from them again. To Mark, Paul and Aidan I am truly sorry but I’m sure the loss of contact is both mutual an inevitable. No matter how fond you guys were of the daft bloke who turned up in various moods and guises over the previous 4 years you will let him go to float away in the ether of time.
However, in contrast, I believe a woman given the same work experience would be still in contact with most of the old team and may still be planning to meet up at the next leavers going away drinks. Five years on I would suggest she would still be in contact with at least two of her former colleagues and be planning a meal out some night.
We men seem to lack that contact gene and I can’t tell you of the number of people I really liked in companies I worked for, that I have lost forever over my working life.
Do you agree?
Are men poor at keeping in touch?
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