Sunday, May 17, 2009

The Call to the Post

After spending more than 11 years working for the same employer, only five work days remain for me in my current gig, which is the one I moved to when I left WL at the end of January. This new job got real old real fast. And fortunately for me, as my level of anxiety and disillusionment reached their limits, something magical happened. I was offered the chance to come home. And of course, after waiting the requisite 3 seconds so as to not seem too desperate, I leapt at it. I have now made what shall likely be the final move of my professional career (barring termination or disbarment). And I could not be happier about it.

This week, as the soon-to-be former gig, the reaction to my imminent departure was not necessarily well-received. In the little New Jersey branch office where I have worked since February 2nd there was genuine sadness and regret, which I understand as I shall miss those with whom I have worked side-by-side. The reaction, however, from t. he mother ship in the Town of the Tea Party, was one of anger. A full-scale inquiry was made into the"real" reason I was leaving. And in one bizarre moment, which will forever remain firmly in mind's eye, I spoke directly with the man atop the firm's food chain in his effort to talk me out of what was one of the easiest decisions I have ever made. In the course of the conversation, as time grew short his anxiety grew long, he made two promises that struck me as wholly inappropriate and that ratified for me the correctness of my decision.

Here, in the season of Triple Crown racing, it is fitting to observe that I am indeed in the back stretch of my brief tenure at MM. And one needs not to be as astute a horseman as Calvin Borel to know what is waiting for me when I complete my stretch drive.

I can see the finish line in front of me. I have cleared the field and I am heading for home.


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