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Discussing my future in my boss’s office was something that had become a frequent occurrence in 2010. I had been openly saying that I would like ‘opportunities’ abroad, but when in December, just before Christmas, I sat opposite him and floated the idea of a sabbatical he seemed quite agreeable. Now I hope that didn’t reflect the sentiment of how I was doing in my job of course (“not at all I hear you saying”, “good man”, I reply back).

So in that moment in his office, I had given up on a career at home, and a potential career abroad, and instead suggesting that what I really needed was a fucking good holiday.

Fast forward to the 2nd June 2011 at 16:00 and I am sat there with my head in my hands in my office. I have just emailed my resignation letter to my boss and I feel utterly empty and numb, not as I had envisaged at all, where were the cake and the balloons? How had i ended up here? I sat there waiting for the endorphins, something that would signal the dawn of a new era, of course that never came, and my plan to flood Facebook with tales of my resignation never happened. On this occasion I didn’t want to boast, which is rather uncharacteristic ("really?" you say)!! I kept this one to myself. I can’t say that I felt particularly proud or excited about the whole thing. Of course, I still had 3 months’ notice to work. Maybe the rush will happen when I’m standing on the platform of Middlesbrough Train Station on my one way ticket out of here? Maybe, just maybe.

I guess we will just have to see.

Article By David Beattie of Rounton Coffee

Posted by beatski 10:13 Archived in England Tagged work job resignation sabattical

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