Four years ago, almost to the day, I
started my new job. I wore new shoes, a nice shirt, and my good
jumper. I was hired as a manager, with nine direct reports.
Caffeinated and ready, I strode across the marble floors, and
through the gleaming offices. I was a member of the knowledge economy
– an up and comer. Ireland's young and educated workforce. A leader
at the very cutting edge of business and marketing.
Three years and nine months ago, I made
endless pairs of cups of tea, steeling myself for the next hellish
one-to-one meeting. Every morning, in the shower, I wrote the number
of days until I could convincingly leave in the mist on the door. I
girded myself to come in at each turn. I made a cup of tea before
each meeting, holding onto the thin paper cup to feel the heat of the
water.
Two years and six months ago, I sat in
a taxi from one part of California to another. The journey took an
hour and fifteen minutes. During this journey, I was absolutely
confident that I would be fired within two weeks. I was unable to do
this job. Daily, I went into work, and alternated between anger and
heavy, tired sadness. My team were disenfranchised, and I dreaded
talking to them. Next to me, a cheerful and relaxed German sipped
coffee and did his own non-managerial job confidently and well.
Two years and one month ago, I sat in a
pub in a foreign city with my boss, and we talked about what could
change. I told him I wanted to be a cheerful and relaxed and German.
He understood – I'll be forever grateful for this. Shortly
afterwards, I took a holiday, and came back to a different role. I
stopped managing my team, and joined them. Within three months, I was
taking meetings in a foreign city, deliriously happy, and drunk on
cheap wine.
One year ago exactly, I spent a month
in California, learning a set of skills that are unique in my role.
This year, I have found what it is like to enjoy my job. I work
directly with people I admire, and I hope that sitting next to me,
someone wants to be a cheerful and relaxed Irishman.
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