We recently found out that the president of my 9-5 is leaving.  I couldn’t have anticipated the emotional reaction I had.  At first I was just in shock and a little angry because we’ve been through hell these last few years dealing with this merger immediately after the nightmare of COVID—and it was like you’re choosing to leave now?  Why?  After all that, now you pick up and go?  It really did feel like this utter sense of abandonment and hopelessness mixed with the shock of it.  Of course rumors started immediately; was he asked to leave?  Did he not get along with the new leadership in place?  They replaced him with an employee from the organization that bought us out so was this him stepping down because of “infiltration” so to speak?  We all know there were reasons and he was kind enough to share some of them with us—but I feel there is more to the story, as grateful as I am that he did take the time to share. 

What I didn’t expect was that behind that anger was actually sadness.  I’ve had a tumultuous relationship with this organization in my tenure there.  20 years is a long time to spend with anyone and It’s completely natural to have some ups and downs.  Some were down more than others.  But it has never been lost on me that this place also kept a roof over my head, clothes on my back, food in my stomach, and allowed me to go through school twice—for my bachelors and then for my LMT.  I was born there.  My son was born there.  My grandparents died there.  I walked away from that place once and it took me back at a time I legitimately needed it to—a new baby and a contract ending, I needed work and it was there.  Plus I actually like this president—he’s a good person and he took time to meet with everyone.  I’ve sat in his office with proposals for my department, I joked with him, I listened to his speeches and believed him. 

There is also sadness that this place that was independent for so long has lost its identity over the last few years because of this merger, and our president leaving speaks volumes to the fact that we no longer are who we were.  He was the last link to what we formerly knew and I know in my gut that part of the reason he is leaving is that this merger didn’t go how he felt it would.  Regardless of all that, I didn’t expect to shed tears over this.  As he stood crying telling us his reasons for leaving, I understood.  And I felt sad too.  Like him, this place is really all I’ve known.  I’ve worked there nearly my entire adult life, same as him.  He had the calling to do something different and to take a more creative opportunity and he said he wants to write a new chapter in his book—and I asked how we know when it’s time to move on and write that new chapter.  But I think I get it now: we just know.  When we see what we’ve wanted and that we can’t get it where we’re at and our goals are stagnate, we know it’s time to turn the page and start over again—or at least add to the book.

So, feelings are complicated, truly.  I’ve worked myself silly for that place and lost out on a lot because of it.  I’ve settled for things because of that place because, while I’m comfortable, I am well aware they got a deal with me because I didn’t understand my worth.  But I KNOW that place and I know who I am when I’m there even if that is a part of me I’m trying to change.  The funny thing is when change is thrust upon us we get disoriented and struggle to adjust—even if it’s a change we were looking to make.  When we change on our own it’s usually a gradual thing.  I take it as a good sign that the changes I’ve been working on were already in the works and I’m a firm believer that sometimes we have to take the leap before we are ready, it’s still a struggle when we have to dive in before we are ready.  And I’ve been writing my book for so long that I lost sight of when it was time to start a new chapter—it’s been one long run on story forever.  Thanks to this change in part of my identity, I too understand it’s time to write a new chapter.  It’s time to do something new.