Pulling the Pin

Earlier this year I resigned from my job. My fulfilling, secure employment of three and a half years.

I left a team of people I love, and work that brought me joy, satisfaction and a sense of purpose. I said goodbye to a role that saw me through the tumult of the pandemic and helped me forge a community that I may not have found in any other way.

It was sad.

It was difficult.

It was a long time coming, yet happened in an instant.

I pulled the trigger, but not in a vacuum. There was a dance in the months and weeks preceding. My CEO knew of my struggles. Shifts in the system he and the organisation moves within were placing pressure on him, me, our work and my role.

We both knew that. We spoke about it often. We resisted those pressures for a long time. We sought ways through it. Options, reframing, alternatives. I could not have asked for a greater ally in muddling through the messiness.

Over many months the joy in my work diminished as the goals, needs and purpose of the organisation shifted in one direction and my identity and need to operate in different ways solidified elsewhere.

I knew I couldn't stay but I clung on. I hoped things would change. I hoped for alignment that I just couldn't see. I hoped that if I did more, explored more, advocated, encouraged, argued, I could change perspectives and shift the system to match what I believed was possible.

Then came the realisation that there was no hope. Time and timing wouldn't allow it. I was no longer a good fit with this small but mighty team. Perhaps I never was.

This is the tension of being human. Knowing that you can no longer stay where you are but not knowing what the future brings. Struggling with fear and uncertainty, a desire to control the uncontrollable while knowing deeply that the hard decision is the right decision, the best decision, the decision that will open up new possibilities.

And it has. New projects, new people, new ideas have captured my attention in the weeks since.

I muddle on. The sadness subsided to hints of melancholy. Anticipation of what might come is the bigger, bolder feeling.

Do I know what the future looks like?

No.

Is that scary?

Yes.

Am I glad I found the courage to push into the unknown?

Absolutely.

In January I declared that my word for 2024 is renewal - ‘To make like new; restore freshness.’ Starting anew requires us to say goodbye to the old. Like the phoenix in a show of flames, renewal takes nerve. Here's to all of us finding the courage to start again when the messiness of life requires it.

Onwards and upwards,

The fun stuff:

I’m watching The Newsreader, Season 2. Reliving the news stories and soundtrack of my 1980s childhood.

I’m reading Reconnected: A community builder's handbook by Andrew Leigh and Nick Terrell. Real world strategies for building social capital and community resilience. Why? See this 👇

I’m learning about: Social Impact as a member of Cohort 6 of the Social Impact Hub’s Fellowship. Intervening at the systems level to create positive change for communities is my new jam.