10 Years On

This year is my 10th year at my job. I never thought I'd stick with this job for 10 years. Then again, I should have known better. Per the previous story, I'll tend to keep on keeping on. I don't know much about changing direction.

Anyway, my 10th year coincides with the 10th anniversary of my agency's first client; tonight, they held a celebration, and I got to go. Much irony for me: the last time I changed jobs, it was for this client, the chance to help them launch as a brand new company. I was a fresh-faced 28 year old, ready for bigger and better things, to take my talent to an international stage. My first assignment: coordinate the planning of a launch party for some 3,000 people that would set the stage for employees that they were going to be part of something great.

Now, when I was considering "bigger and better things", that did not in any way involve event planning or employee communication. But there I was watching the CEO deliver the speech I'd written as 3,000 people rose as one in a standing ovation.

Here I was tonight, standing alone and apart among a much smaller crowd of a leaner company set for the long haul, watching a new CEO handle his own speech. Then navigating past the games and the pony rides, trying not to trip over tent stakes and picnic tables for familiar faces, and not finding many. Here I was balancing a paper plate that sagged under the weight of overcooked chicken and pasta salad, wondering what I was doing there, beyond angling for company logo swag.

They've changed. They've passed the torch to a new leader, a new team. They chose their path, made their moves. Ten years ago, the big party was meant to put a happy face on the doubts and fears of employees facing a newly uncertain future. Today, they were relaxed, happy. They know where they stand, where they're going. There's a strength there, a serenity you find, when you're in the place where you're supposed to be.

Me, I met few old clients. We talked. We reminisced about people we thought we'd forgotten. And I left, squinting into the setting sun.