leaving soon

With the stage set, in yesterday's post, for unexpected developments and posts largely at odds with their listless precursors, here's the story that really started it.  It happened a few months ago (and might thus not be appropriate for a blog post, but as the story unfolds, it will get more current).

In March one morning, I walked into my boss's office for our weekly meeting and bantered my way to an "I'll be gone by June" statement that didn't exactly go unnoticed.  "Is there anything I can do to change your mind", was her response, reassuring in the appreciation it conveyed for my work but entirely in vain.  I had made up my mind and hadn't come for bargaining.

There's a lot in my job it would be worth bargaining for:  a salary that's not pitiful, desk space somewhere quiet and less arctic, maybe even a proper office, more involvement with students, a career perspective that goes beyond the day-to-day, and stronger support from the administration for the facility I run.  All of this is frequently on my mind but because of more important things like my immediate future leads to no actions.  All it does is cause frustration.

That is not to say that I don't like my job.  I do.  Most of my efforts are targeted towards ensuring the smooth running of the biomolecular crystallography facility and I see with pleasure that things work well when before they were a big mess for the most part.  Besides, I enjoy a large degree of freedom and drive collaborative scientific endeavors when maintenance and administration are done.  There's a good vibe in the department and I am surrounded by great people.  After seven years, Imperial feels a bit like home, and yet I'm leaving.

Back in March, when this story unfolded, I was mentally on my way out, had packed my bags in my mind already.  The weekend before my resignation, I had started clearing out my flat.  First to go were items of absolutely no use to me.  A hand mixer I'd inherited when a friend had left London, mom's old laptop, minor parts of my stereo, a spare steam iron – all freecycled to a new owner.  I felt liberated and ready to throw myself into the next stage, gumtreeing those possession that others might see value in, furniture mostly.

I want to move back to continental Europe, and I want to make the move simply and in one go.  At one point, I contemplated renting a van and driving across, as I had done from Grenoble seven years earlier.  But then I'd have to get the van back to the UK and it'd all be more complicated than necessary.  Instead, it will be boxes.  Boxes that a company delivers to my flat where I stuff them with whatever fits.  At a later date, the boxes will be picked up and delivered to their destination, a new home in Germany or wherever.  There will be no room for a sofa or a mattress or even Billy, the habitat of my books over the last decade.  The dining table will stay behind, as will the shelf on which my projector currently thrones.  No matter how much I get rid of stuff, I'll still be ten times as loaded as the world's average, and a hundred times as loaded as the bottom half.

With these thoughts in mind I prepared myself for departure – for about a week.  In those seven days, Flucha and I had a few deep discussions and hard-fought arguments.  The surprising conclusion was that I would stay in London.  We agreed that it would be silly for me to quit with no job lined up.  Why give up something less than optimal for something with no benefits besides proximity?  Why not try to finish up various collaborative projects, get results published and leave when the balance of for and against is a bit more on the for side?

I wasn't entirely convinced.  Did I mention that I was ready to leave?  So I did what I do best – I dithered my way to a solution.  Two weekly meetings later, my boss asked if I had properly considered the ramifications of what she felt was a bad decision, and whether I was still sure I'd want to leave.  This was the clue I needed.  I sent an email to HR and unresigned.  And I'm still in London.