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"It's not you – it's me!" A line popularized by George Costanza on Seinfeld is what I can't wait to say – not to my boyfriend, husband or partner, but my employer.
After almost 30 years of participating in cubicle life and reciting rote formalities, as in "good morning," "have a good weekend" and "did you have a good weekend?" and after years of performing the same tasks, in the same environment, at the same more or less location and department, I would like to take a bow and respectfully exit.
Technically, having reached the grateful age of 55, I could call it early retirement (I remember seeing commercials for freedom 55). This for me is a turning point. I want to transition – not to a different gender, I wish I could be that certain of something. Instead, I will transition to an uncharted stage in my life by willingly giving up this job with no set plans for what comes next. For the first time in my life, I will be without a predetermined routine – and, more importantly, a safety net. However, I think there is something to be said about having the upper hand and much like the Queen using said hand to emulate a similar and deliberate graceful wave goodbye.
I started this job fresh from college, with still not a clue what I wanted to be when I grew up. I took on this job just as a means to get my foot in the employment door. It didn't hurt that, while at this job, I would be able to pay back my university loans. I reasoned I would stay on for only a short time and then move on to something more aligned with my interests. But this never transpired – because with each steady paycheque and with each passing year, that familiarity and security afforded me the luxury to travel, and to build a comfortable nest egg. And truthfully, this job which had become so second nature to me had also somehow cocooned me from the outside world. This job, these co-workers – we've all become one big dysfunctional family. And I am very attached to my family. We have lived through and acknowledged each other's milestones.
For me, the looming decision to quit and try to start over is being met with mixed reviews. "Who retires at 55?" This is exactly what was said to me when I confessed to a group of friends at dinner that I was toying with the idea of giving up my long-standing job. I have to say I was a little taken aback. I was sure I would be praised for conceding that I am not content and need a change and an opportunity to try something else.
Instead, I was greeted with condemnation and predictions of doom: "You would be bored at home," "What would you do all day?" or "What other jobs could you do?" This was quickly turning into a virtual quicksand situation and I was slowly sinking deeper into self-doubt. The final straw was when the waitress appeared at our table and someone asked if the restaurant had any immediate openings. The table burst into laughter as I broke into a panicky sweat. Could they all be right? Would leaving my job be the biggest mistake of my life? If only there was an Airbnb for jobs, enabling people to experience something else for one year. Then I could know for sure: Do I stay or do I go?
I never thought my friend's casual comment of "your job gives you a life purpose and a reason to get up in the morning" would so unnervingly upset me. My life purpose? I just want to embark on a new chapter at this juncture in my life – not join the clergy! I'll discover a new purpose to rise up to – and this time it will be on my terms. Maybe for a change I will even allow the gentle rhythm of daylight to seep through my blinds and nudge me awake instead of the piercing sound of my alarm clock.
I believe that holding down a job and committing yourself to it with all your best efforts is a noble achievement in and of itself. But I am not defined by my job or career. I don't want to be remembered for what I achieved work-wise; I hope I will be remembered for being kind, generous and wonderfully weird.
When I am finally ready to hand in my resignation and champion this next phase, I will do so with genuine gratitude and the utmost respect toward my employer and my adopted family who have kept me afloat throughout the years.
I don't have all the answers. I thought that was the whole point of embarking on a new journey – to approach it as if you were an explorer of a new frontier. It's never too late to switch gears and experience a new path – I have to keep reminding myself of this. To echo the sentiment from the beloved Star Trek – it's okay to "to explore strange new worlds and to boldly go where no man has gone before" or in my case "to boldly not know where to go" and love the earned thrill of that ride anyway. So will 2018 be the year I finally launch my freedom and figure this all out? I sure hope to "make it so!"
Wendy Reichental Shade lives in Montreal.