At the beginning of my teaching career, on the first day of new teacher orientation, my future principal began her welcome speech by introducing Janus, the Roman god of beginnings and transitions. (Plus, deeper in his LinkedIn profile–also the god of gates, doors, doorways, endings and time.) Joanne referenced Janus’ ability to see both the past and the future simultaneously (he’s usually depicted with two faces) before pivoting and asking us to look both directions as we crossed the threshold into our educational careers. That orientation was filled with lots of administrative minutiae–filling out tax paperwork, reviewing policy, learning curricula–none of which I remember. But I never forgot Joanne’s monologue on Janus. (Maybe there’s a reason my son Chase is so into mythology and Rick Riordan books.)
Janus just isn’t famous for transitions and portals; his name is also where we get the word “January,” the month when we move from one year to another. This past January, as Janus was looking back at 2018 and forward to 2019, I made my own new transition and moved real estate brokerages to Compass. At this point in my life, I’ve crossed through a lot of doorways, and I’m prone to reflection (or overthinking) to take stock of both the past and future. So, what would I report to my former principal about what I’ve learned with this transition?
For starters there are things that go with another with leaving an office. Five years is a fairly long tenure at one brokerage and I’d like to think I was a fairly central character in that workplace. I’m not suggesting my departure was like Michael Scott leaving The Office at the end of season seven; more like Paul Kinsey leaving Mad Men after season three. Who? Exactly. So while there was no retirement party to attend or gold watch to collect, it was still a professional uprooting. There are the heartfelt goodbyes to the inner circle, the professional goodbyes to staff and colleagues, and awkward moments with agents you’re not really sure you officially met in the first place.
In terms of logistics, I went through the exorcism of cleaning out my office as anything with the now previously company’s branding shant be used again. Business cards, letterhead, promotional materials, and marketing were ceremonially burned in a bonfire. (Ok, not really, but it sounds cooler than slid into the recycling bin.) Also, like anyone moving, cleaning up and purging feels emotionally efficient. There are memories that can be fondly catalogued, battle scars that have hopefully healed, and above all else: who did I borrow this book from and will they remember it’s gone? So for the cost of some candy and a few bucks, my older son provided cheap labor on a Saturday afternoon. Pretty soon, the remnants of the office were packed into bankers’ boxes and then into the minivan. A few hours later, I was scanning an empty office like a tourist doing the once over in a hotel room making sure that a pair of sneakers or phone charger haven’t been left behind. As I literally and figuratively closed that office door–backwards facing Janus had completed his end of the transaction.
Going through a door has three distinct stages–there’s being on one side of the door, being on the other side of the door, and brief moments when you’re in between. And I believe it’s this “in between” which causes the most stress in terms of change. After cleaning out the old office we had to wait a couple days before the official Compass onboarding. During those days, I could feel the restlessness and uneasiness rising to the surface. Even though this was a change that I initiated, there was still nervous energy that was wasted on worrying about it. We get settled into environments and routines, like tire grooves down dirt road and any deviation from that groove feels unnatural as it fights what we’ve established previously. It’s concern about being the “new guy” once again; it’s freshman year of high school; it’s moving up to the older division of Little League; it’s new teacher orientation. So then there are questions of working in a new office: What’s my new commute? Where’s the copier? Will people think I’m crazy as I talk to myself throughout the day?
One by one, uncertainties become clear. I order new business cards and signs. Two millennials set up our computer and phones in a fraction of the time it would taken me to call customer service. No Greek or Roman deities came up during our onboarding meeting, but perhaps Compass will look to open a Mount Olympus office soon. I thought I had mastered the high-tech coffee maker until a co-worker pointed out that I had unknowingly been selecting decaf. Coffee game on lock, new grooves start to become established.
And before you know it, you’re on the other side of door.
That new teacher orientation happened over twenty years ago and it makes sense that this specific memory would come to mind in light of our recent move. I never kicked around ancient Rome, but I think the two faces of Janus are about seeing where we’ve been and where we could go. Looking forward from from Monmouth Junction, NJ in 1993, I could never see the future major life changes–marriage, move across country, career change, parenthood–that were coming my way. Hard to say when Janus is going to drop by (it’s not always the first month of the year), but I think we can learn a lot from his backwards and forwards vision. He may linger in the doorway when it’s time to go, but I’m pretty sure that’s the point.
