LEAVING AT THE RIGHT TIME

I went to an old colleague’s leaving drinks last night. He’s not old, I mean the colleague-ness is old, as in, he’s from my old work.

I left the pub as they started doing shots, a sight which, since an incident in 2011, has always been a key indicator that it’s my time to leave. When the tiny glasses of sambuca and tequila come out, it’s a short slope to a long drop, and so drop out I did.

I was surprised to find it still light. It was around 9pm and the summer clouds hung over the station. Long strands of purple and silver stretched across the rippled sky. I headed for the bus.

I miss those moments. Working remotely is okay but it’s the friendships I miss. My old colleagues, only just back in the office, felt similarly.

“Covid’s changed everything,” said one, gesturing with a flick of the hand. Even so, I saw more of my old colleagues last night than I have any of my new ones in the last year.

That being said, I came away more certain than ever that I had left at the right time, and jumped ship well. Things aren’t perfect in my new job, but from last night’s conversations, I’m convinced staying there at my old one would have continued to be more and more soul-crunching. It is good to know when to leave; even better to be reassured that you did so at the best moment.