Haunted by the naysayers
I left my job over 3 years ago now, and even though I don’t regret it, the people of my worst nightmares still live inside my head. They hold permanent residence, they still look the same as they did the last time I saw them, but they’re ready with a scathing comment and a look of pure contempt every time I make a mistake.
My head is refuge for the haters
And it’s not just old colleagues that live there either, there’s a few old adversaries, a few people that never liked me or my over-politeness, and they’re always ready to mock me and tell me I’m full of shit. I’ve taken risks, and people in a town like this don’t do things like that, they stay in their jobs-for-life and stay safe. If it goes tits up, they’ll be ready to point the finger and say ‘I told you so.’
Small town/city
Well, it’s not exactly a town, it’s a city, by virtue of the fact it has a cathedral and a hospital. But it’s small and cramped, with an upper and a lower part. Some of the people of my past come from a town just up the road from here, and they live in a small town too.
Job for life
This is a place with barely any industry, and most of the jobs available are in the public sector. If you’re a teacher, a doctor or a university lecturer, and you want to live somewhere quiet with a low cost of living and a beautiful landscape and raise children, then it’s the perfect place. And you don’t have to stay forever, there’s plenty of opportunity for career progression somewhere else.
BUT if you’re local and you’re not brave enough to leave (yeah, I know), then you’ll get one of numerous jobs the public sector has to offer. This could be in administration or secretarial, and it usually is, unless you get a job in one of the two types of library in the public sector – university or local public library.
Golf, pension, package holidays and death
Most jobs are for life, and you have to do something really bad to lose it. If you’re incompetent, you’ll get moved sideways and someone will create a fancy job title for you. You’ll get a stable salary and a pension for life, you’ll buy a modest house, you’ll marry someone local then you’ll work, live and play golf, and then you’ll die. For most of these people, I could write their life stories on a post-it note. Nothing remarkable ever happens to them, except their package holidays get more exotic each year, and they never shop at Aldi or Lidl – that’s for the poor people they have to deal with from behind 2 inches of glass if they work in benefits. And they wouldn’t be seen dead there.
They read the Daily Mail, where they get the majority of their opinions from. They come up with sentences like “I’m not a racist but……” and they have dinner parties.
Smugness is ugliness personified
This job-for-life-with-no-risk can make you smug. Very smug. The stayers are the naysayers and they don’t approve of change, they don’t approve of anything that doesn’t look or sound like what they did. If you try something different, you’ll be flayed alive if you fail. Because the naysayers are harsh critics, especially to people they don’t like. Or so it feels inside my head.
Why couldn’t I have just left?
I did all the things I should have done if I’d left and gone to an English city. You don’t stay in the same little town (no city!!!), and try to be different. You do different somewhere else. And I wish I’d left and then come back.
Naysayer central
I created a place for the naysayers to live, in a nice, warm place inside my head, and I can’t seem to let them go. Maybe it’s good that they’re there, pushing me on, making sure I don’t fail, that I don’t go back with my tail between my legs. There’s no shame in making mistakes sometimes, but in nowheresville, there is.
And I really do wish I hadn’t stayed.
