Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

On the road again...

     I decided to leave my job after working at the same company for 28 years. It  took some time to mentally prepare myself for the final step. I spent the entire summer thinking about it. I talked to my family, friends and colleagues trying to rationalize the outcome in my mind. It was the hardest decision of my life and yet it felt so right. I wanted to have no regrets when I finally took the last step and wrote my letter of resignation.

     I wanted to leave the company on a positive note. I wanted to leave on my own terms. I didn’t want to stay long enough to become angry and bitter. I have a number of years left to be a productive worker, and I'm ready for a new challenge.

     I don’t want to slam the industry I worked in. Let’s just say it's on life-support, and watching its slow death was killing me. I saw many, many co-workers terminated during years of “downsizing”. They were all great people. The company I worked for was family-owned, and it was reflected in the close-knit relationship among the core group of dedicated employees who have hung on through severe economic times. Pay cuts and benefit losses became all too real during the 2008 recession. The cost of living skyrocketed while my paycheck plummeted. Things were not going to get better any time soon (or ever it seemed to me). I’m not a doom-and-gloom kind of guy, but I saw the writing on the wall and I didn’t like what it said.

     Coworkers rallied together to get me to change my mind. “You can’t go.” “You have to stay.” “We’ll start a petition to keep you.” “Of course they’ll make a deal so you can stay.” I wasn't surprised that didn't happen.

     After lunch on a quiet Thursday afternoon, I walked into my manager’s office and told him I was resigning from my position. He was visibly shaken. I caught him off guard. I calmly explained the reasons for my decision.

     I offered some suggestions of what could be done to modify my position at the company in a way that might work for me. I waited for any hint of an offer to make up for the recent shortfalls the company has imposed on its employees. Unfortunately, there were no lifelines on the horizon and I was adrift at sea.

     Since I had no job lined up, I inquired about the possibility of collecting unemployment compensation. That deal wasn’t on the table since I was told my position had to be replaced because my work was so valuable to the company. Ironically, it wasn't valuable enough for them to keep me. In fact, my manager’s last words were, “Do you know anyone looking for a job? We have to get someone in here right away.” Sadly, I couldn’t think of anyone I would want to put in my position.

When my exit interview took place in the Human Resource office, I didn’t have a lot to say (which is unusual for me). I wasn’t about to throw anyone under the bus, although that seemed to be the point of the interview. When asked what I disliked about my job I said, “I’ve been here for 28 years, obviously I liked my job.”

     On my last day, I was genuinely touched at the goodbye celebration my friends put together for me. It was completely unexpected and extremely appreciated. Like so many old-fashioned traditions, I thought going-away parties were a thing of the past. The festivities included a cake with a cartoon likeness of me on it, a handmade photo-collage good-bye card and a caricature of me with sentiments signed by my coworkers. I appreciated the generous gift envelope I was given by the group. I received a framed commemorative newspaper front page, complete with personal photos and a story full of poignant reminiscing from my colleagues. Afterward, I was treated to an intimate lunch with a handful of close associates – a perfect ending to my long career at the company.

     I walked out of the building on my last day feeling upbeat and happy, the same way I walked in so many years ago. As the door closed behind me, I stepped through another door – the door to my future. I walked to the parking lot for the last time knowing I have the power to shape my future into anything I wish. I looked into the crumpled cardboard box I carried, full of 28 years of memories, and I suddenly realized my options are limitless.