Moving on
They keep coming, these "moving on" emails.
I get depressed every time an email with the subject "Moving on" appears in my inbox, even if I don't know the person leaving. Maybe it is because it seems that so many of my class of intake have already left. The word "exodus" springs to mind, although this is probably the norm. After all, high attrition is a fact of life in banking. And yet, I am not used to it.
Bar my ex-boyfriend, I have not have had many people leave me behind. For most of my life, it seems it has always been me rather than those around me, who has moved on, moved out, moved away.
But since university ended, my uni friends have moved back, moved bases, while one by one, my lunch buddies at work have either resigned or been made redundant, so now we are down to three.
When I am stuck in the office nights and weekends and feeling particularly petrified, the moving on of my colleagues only serve to underscore the airless stagnance of my life. People are moving on to a life of sunshine, of six pm drinks at outdoor bars, and fresh air that reaches deep into your lungs; my company is hiring in new blood from other firms—there is circulation, an almost organic process of corporate evolution. While I am sedentary.
It's strange how I often crave change—of country, environment, even the layout of my room, if that's all I can manage, and yet feel almost helpless to cope with a different kind of change... where it is others who are changing.
I would rather myself take flight than to see others fly away. To leave behind, rather than to be left behind. Because the truth is, probably everyone else is better than I am at moving on.
I get depressed every time an email with the subject "Moving on" appears in my inbox, even if I don't know the person leaving. Maybe it is because it seems that so many of my class of intake have already left. The word "exodus" springs to mind, although this is probably the norm. After all, high attrition is a fact of life in banking. And yet, I am not used to it.
Bar my ex-boyfriend, I have not have had many people leave me behind. For most of my life, it seems it has always been me rather than those around me, who has moved on, moved out, moved away.
But since university ended, my uni friends have moved back, moved bases, while one by one, my lunch buddies at work have either resigned or been made redundant, so now we are down to three.
When I am stuck in the office nights and weekends and feeling particularly petrified, the moving on of my colleagues only serve to underscore the airless stagnance of my life. People are moving on to a life of sunshine, of six pm drinks at outdoor bars, and fresh air that reaches deep into your lungs; my company is hiring in new blood from other firms—there is circulation, an almost organic process of corporate evolution. While I am sedentary.
It's strange how I often crave change—of country, environment, even the layout of my room, if that's all I can manage, and yet feel almost helpless to cope with a different kind of change... where it is others who are changing.
I would rather myself take flight than to see others fly away. To leave behind, rather than to be left behind. Because the truth is, probably everyone else is better than I am at moving on.
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