My last day of work was Wednesday, November 1. The week preceding was a blur of lunches, happy hours, and hallway conversations about being shocked to hear I was leaving, questions about where I was going, and pledges to miss me. It all felt sadder than I was expecting.
The last day itself was crazy; I had planned to actually do some work, but could not due to the stream of phone calls, emails, IMs, and visitors. My face hurt from smiling. The president surprised me by appearing in my office and giving me a big hug. He asked more meaningful questions than the HR person at the exit interview. I eventually finished the last few tasks and carried the last load of belongings to the last appointment, which was with my soon-to-be-ex supervisor. I had foolishly purchased a dozen vegan doughnuts at the final lunch, at the new vegan doughnut place. Vegan doughnuts are hard to come by! I might not be in that area for a long time! But they packed them in a pizza box and carrying it was awkward, in combination with the miscellaneous other items.
But eventually, there I was; I had left the building. I couldn’t help but feel a minor wave of panic. Had I made a huge mistake? Would I regret this forever? The Glands’ song Livin’ Was Easy started playing in my mind — I think that song is about a rehab center, but I’m not completely sure — but suddenly it seemed to apply to me.
Sadly, but predictably, I couldn’t feel joy in leaving because I’m not completely sure what I’m doing next. Yes, there is a company that is fully expecting me to show up on the 13th to start work. But there is another company that also might want me to show up, and I am waiting to hear whether the “might” turns into “does.” And if they do, I have to turn down the first company, which feels so bad.
I can tell you what will happen: I will send my regrets email and never hear from them ever again. They won’t send an email saying “Thanks for letting us know.” They will be silent. They will owe and give me nothing, so that whenever I think if them I will feel a twinge.
I should be out of my misery — at least the not-knowing-what-I’m-doing part — some time tomorrow, is the good news.