Around the same time two years ago, I was on my desk typing my resignation letter for the umpteenth time. But that time around, I somehow found the courage to send it to print and sealed it in an envelope before placing a copy each of that resignation on my HR’s desk and subsequently, my director.
I’ve worked there far too long and my role was becoming too much of a routine – to a point I no longer had to work hard to “do a good job”. I guess I’m wired that way, where a role which is no longer a challenge becomes mundane and I cease interest almost immediately. Despite the job perks, I was unhappy.
Holding a Starbucks in my hand each morning as I run into meetings no longer felt good. It was a norm and one I grew tired of towards the last few months of my service. I couldn’t imagine working up the ranks in that company, before I retire or am made redundant, like some of my former bosses.
I was also beginning to dread those overseas travel which at one point in time, I enjoyed tremendously. How did I get sick of such life, so quickly? It was barely two years in that division when I felt so uninspired. So jaded.
The life I accepted when I signed the dotted lines more than 5 years ago felt so foreign – I wondered why I left the agency life in pursuit of money, status and (to a certain extent) cronyism. I no longer responded to promises of career advancement. Not where I was working.
I served my notice and left, but not without missing a few colleagues whom I’ve formed good friendships with. Fellow comrades like myself, battling the corporate world one red tape at a time. I guess the bit I miss most is when we try to schedule impromptu coffee breaks at 3 or 4pm, and sometimes 6pm when we have an 8pm meeting to stay back for.
I don’t miss the work life I had before but I do miss the fellowship I’ve formed and the financial stability that role offered. Especially today. Right now.