I found out six months ago that I would be losing my job. Six months. Four different end dates. Finally the day arrived.
I don’t really know how to describe the feelings that accompanies knowing your job is being eliminated and yet still having to do that job for months. It provides an interesting idea of self-worth. It’s basically like being told you are valuable, but only until someone else can be trained to do what you do for less. So you are valuable, but not as valuable as you were six months ago.
I had good days during that six months, days where I got up, went for my run, and then spend 8 hours with people I genuinely cared about, and who’s presence I enjoyed. I probably had more good days then bad days. But I had bad days too, days where I couldn’t drag myself out of bed to do a job they didn’t want me to do. Days where my commute seemed never ending. And days where a 10 hour shift seemed like it would never end. For the most part though, I think I did my job well during these 6 long months, certainly better than most in my position.
So I find myself, my last day of banking, six months later. Important note about me: I’m a crier. I seriously cry about everything. That being said, I care about my coworkers a lot and I know that they will suffer without me. I will miss seeing them everyday. So I assumed I’d cry when I left. But when the time came, the keys returned, the money counted, and the last CTR preformed, I felt strangely at ease. I met my best friend for happy hour, and it seemed like things had come full circle. It seemed like things were working out the way they were supposed to work out. Or maybe it just meant that I had six months to come to terms with what has happening. Either way, the day finally came and went and now I’m ready for whatever comes my way.