It’s The People

Here I thought I was completely miserable being back at work. But funnily enough, the past few days here have been oddly happy ones. I’ve had the random luck of running into a few old favorite friends and colleagues, and indulging in some long overdue quality catch up. It’s amazing how something like that can really pick up your spirits.

Now I know I said the culture here is one-dimensional and the interactions lacking authenticity. But that of course is a generality not necessarily applicable to everyone. In my four years here, I was lucky to find a number of truly wonderful and candid people. And it’s been these people who’ve made working here for this long bearable. Truthfully, anytime someone here has resigned and sent around the usual mass farewell email, they’ve often sited the people they’ve worked with as the best part of their time here.

Likewise for me, it’s been the people I’ve known here who have kept me coming back to work everyday.

I’d almost forgotten that, lost in my woe-is-me-I-hate-my-job whirlwind. But over the last couple of days, I’ve been fortunate to run into some of these folks and experience real heartfelt conversation. It’s a wonderful reminder that there are genuine souls here I’ve had a lasting connection with. These are people I actually plan to stay in touch with and make a part of my life’s next journey. Just a few happy days, and with it some long overdue Facebook friend-ings and promises that my last days here won’t be the last days for our friendship.

What’s more, many of these people were inspired by the tales of my next journey and have confided their own secret dreams of freedom and exploration. I was so caught up in my own vision that I didn’t stop to think there might be others here with the same aspirations. It’s an unexpected treasure to discover I’m not the only artist-turned-corporate-drone who wants to return to my roots.

It somehow makes me feel less alone, and eases some of the guilt about abandoning this seemingly perfect company and dream job.

So as I struggle to keep my composure in this place day by day, and as I endeavor to preserve the precious bits of my soul recently recovered, I can take comfort in knowing that these people have become another much needed source of comfort and confidence. And that I, in turn, have the ability to provide them with the same thing.

I know now how the hell I’ve lasted a whopping four years here. And why the prospect of leaving, though relieving, still feels a little like breaking up. It’s not because of the cheap massages, or the free laundry, or the gourmet meals, or even the state-of-the-art gym.

It’s because of the people.


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  1. Trackback: How Panic Attacks Saved My Life | The Writes of Passage

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