“It’s the end of an era”, colleagues usually say when someone leaves a job after a few years.
“It’s the end of an era”, a friend said just a few days ago, as my latest job ended.
Except it’s only been nine months since I accepted the post, and not even five months since I actually started.
Nine months between the day I signed up for a job in my favourite city and the day I said ‘au revoir’ to my new colleagues there, to go back to the one that is not my favourite, but that I must finally acknowledge has become my home, the place I feel relaxed in, and the place I will - if nothing major happens to disrupt my plans - live in for the rest of my working life.
So, a short era. An e, let’s say.
It’s a bittersweet feeling.
‘If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere’ goes the song, and although this wasn’t New York, getting to live and work in Paris gave me similar feelings and expectations.
The bitter part is that I didn’t make it, there. I didn’t actually move into a Parisian flat - the first step in making it: by the time I had all the papers I needed to satisfy French landlords’ requirements, it was already clear I wouldn’t stay; since I couldn’t rent a flat, I didn’t get to open a bank account: after several banks refused to do it, I found a major one that first guaranteed they would let me have one, then, after getting all my personal and financial data, left me hanging on for weeks before admitting I needed a permanent address first.
Also bitter, the feeling of having let down my new colleagues, by disappearing just when they had started to count on me. I genuinely feel guilty.
But then there’s the sweet part: those same colleagues thanking me, and spending kind words to acknowledge my contribution to the team’s efforts. I know it’s just 90% politeness, but I’ll treasure the 10% sincere portion, which makes me feel that, at least work-wise, I did succeed.
Which gives me confidence for the next phase.
My new life has a lot in common with the one I left a few months ago: the familiar sweetness of friends available at short notice to meet for a drink or a coffee, a walkable city, an international-feeling environment (it’s strange, but Paris didn’t feel international at all). And the new flavour of a new job, which is, for me, the recognition of more than a decade of hard work.
Things could go wrong, but I hope this will be the start of a new e…ra.