The Burnout(65)

“Tell me more about Zoose,” says Finn, and I laugh.

“I’m serious,” he persists. “I’m a consultant. I like to hear about dysfunctional companies. Helps me sleep at night.”

So I tell him. I describe the lack of staff, the wrong priorities, the infighting—everything. I describe Asher. I describe Lev. I describe Joanne. I find myself analyzing everything differently, now I’ve had some time away.

“Sounds messy,” says Finn as I come to a finish. “Start-ups often go through a tricky stage, especially if they grow too quickly. It’s great to be successful, but be careful what you wish for. And the incompetent-brother thing …” He shakes his head wryly. “Your founder will end up paying off his brother to get rid of him, but he needs to do it soon. Tell him that.”

“I will.” I laugh. “Next time I’m in conversation with him.”

“Great.” Finn nods as though I’m perfectly serious. “Now, fish and chips?”


Finn volunteers to go into the fish-and-chips shop, which is crowded with a bunch of kids, so I give him a tenner, then wait outside, sitting on the exact same wall I sat on when I was ten years old. I was filled with good feelings then, and I’m filled with good feelings now. Good, jittery, surreal feelings. But still good.

I could leave my job. No, I’m more certain than that: I am going to leave my job. When shall I do it? How shall I do it? Do I need to think about this more?

For a few seconds I sit with my eyes closed, processing everything—then I open them.

No. I don’t need to think anymore. Enough thinking, waiting, stagnating. I know Mum said, “Don’t make any big decisions,” but I have to. I need action. Right now.

Trembling, I take out my phone, find the email address of the head of human resources at Zoose, Tina Jeffrey, and begin typing:

Dear Tina:

I would like to resign from my post as director of special promotions. I believe my current holiday entitlement is sufficient to cover my notice period; therefore, I will not be returning to the office.

Sincerely

Sasha Worth

Without pausing to consider, I lift my thumb and press SEND. Then, as Finn appears, holding fish and chips and two Cokes, I look up, forcing my mouth into a smile.

“I just left my job.”

“What?” He stops dead and stares at me. “You what?”

“I left. While you were getting the fish and chips. I emailed the head of human resources.”

“Wow!” His eyes widen. “That was quick.”

“I know!” I try to sound extra-positive, because beneath my smile I’m already feeling the swell of panic. It didn’t take long. Questions are bombarding my mind: Should I have waited? Do I need to tell Mum? What will everyone say?

And a larger, more terrifying question: Have I just made the most dreadful error, which I will regret for the rest of my life?

But I’m not going to sink into terror. I’m determined to shut down the fear, the catastrophizing, the self-doubt. I have savings. I have experience. I have a CV. I will find another job.

“You OK?” says Finn.

“Yes!” I say, trying to sound confident. “Yes.” I pause, then add more honestly, “I will be.”

“Leaving a job isn’t nothing.” He sits beside me. “That took guts.”

“I had to go.” Putting it in the past tense is already more relaxing, I realize. “I had no choice.”

Finn hands me my fish and chips, and I reach for a chip to stuff instantly into my mouth. “I think you did the right thing to leave. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you should be rushing into any new job. If your finances can bear it,” he adds carefully.

“They can bear it.” I nod, still chewing. “For a while.”

“Good. And when you do decide to take the plunge, if you ever want any headhunting contacts, ask me. Or a sounding board. Whatever. You’ll get a job,” he adds assuredly, perhaps noticing my wavering doubt. “You’ll get a great job.” He gestures at the dark sea. “Remember what Terry says? Infinite waves. Infinite chances.”

“I remember.” I laugh. “And thanks for the support. I couldn’t have done that without talking to you. You helped me understand myself.”

“OK, now you’re flattering me,” says Finn, his eyes crinkling. “You would have worked it out. But I’m glad.”

He’s a good person, I find myself thinking. He’s wise. He doesn’t have an agenda. As we sit there, peacefully munching our fish and chips and swigging our Cokes, I feel an overwhelming affection toward this strong, kind man who sees what I can’t see but doesn’t feel the need to boast or brag or even share his thoughts unless you ask him.

“What about you?” I ask, determined that our little support network of two should be fair. “What about your work? What’s the situation there?”

“Oh.” Finn shrugs, and his face closes up like it always does. As if he’s not interested and I can’t possibly be either.

“Are you going back?” I persist. “Is your company dysfunctional too?”

“Not like yours.” He shakes his head. “Where I work, it’s not perfect, but … No. The company was not the problem. I’ll be going back to work there. But I had …” He pauses for so long, I hold my breath. “I had other issues,” he finishes at last. “There was other stuff.”