The Worst Mistake You Can Make When You Quit a Job - Jeff Haden
(Ghostwriter, Speaker, Inc. Magazine Contributing Editor)
I've made plenty of mistakes. Big ones, little ones, expensive ones. Name
it and I've messed it up. Yet the mistake I made when I left a job haunts me
more than any other.
In 2000 I took a leadership position at a commercial print facility that
had just been acquired by a venture capital firm. Initially I was in charge of
quality which was ironic since I came from a culture where productivity was
everything.
Every other member of the leadership team was also new. Randy was in charge
of customer service and scheduling; we had worked together previously and he
basically got me the job.
John, the bindery manager, had more than 30 years of experience with R.R.
Donnelley (where Randy and I had also once worked) and Quebecor, two giants of
the printing industry.
Unfortunately that background didn't serve him particularly well in his new
role. His command and control leadership style bombed with employees accustomed
to playing political games in a family-owned business.
Within a few months I was given responsibility for the bindery and John's
responsibilities shrank dramatically. To my surprise, though, he never treated
me differently. He was disappointed -- and probably at least a little
embarrassed -- but he never showed it.
We even became friends. He loved to go to lunch with Randy and me to swap
old Donnelley stories. He loved to talk about his family and learn about ours.
He treated us a little like we were his kids: rambunctious, headstrong, often
foolish, never serious -- he would often shake his head and smile a rueful
smile, but I always knew he liked me.
And I liked him.
In 2003 I left the company to start my own business. As usually happens --
at least with me -- I didn't really stay in touch with John. (After all, I had
my own thing going on, right?) I emailed occasionally and called once in a
while... but not nearly often enough.
Later the plant was shut down and John stayed on to dispose of assets. For
some months he was the only employee left in the building. The few times we
talked I could tell he was lonely; after all, he now lived and worked
alone.
I felt bad for him... but feeling bad was all I did. And I drifted farther
away.
In early 2008 Randy told me John had cancer. By the time he was diagnosed
it was too late -- the disease had spread to a number of organs.
Randy said I should give John a call.
I didn't. Too much time had passed, I thought. I hadn't talked to him for
years. How could I call him now? What could I say that would remotely
help?
(Trust me: I know how lame my reasoning -- okay, my excuses --
sounds.)
Randy did call John. As he told me a few weeks ago, "He sounded really worn
out. I pictured a thin, frail John, not the healthy, robust John we knew. I'm
glad I was able to speak to him while he was still able to talk. My guilt is
that I didn't take the next step and go see him."
"Didn't go see him?" I wish that was the extent of my regret. I never even
called.
John spent his last days in a hospice in Pennsylvania. He was laid to rest
in a small cemetery in Illinois.
One day I hope to visit his grave. Maybe Randy will come along. (If I ask,
I know he will come along; he's that kind of guy.) I will stand quietly and pay
my respects. I will tell him I'm sorry I let him down. That's the very least my
old friend deserves.
Even though any apology I could ever make comes far too late to
matter.
We all have work buddies. By their very nature our work buddies come and go
since those relationships are built on proximity and shared professional purpose
rather than genuine friendship.
So it's natural, when circumstances change, to leave our work buddies
behind.
But sometimes work buddies also become genuine friends. Take John. He
handled an incredibly awkward professional situation with uncommon grace, not
only stepping back professionally... but then stepping forward to extend the
hand of genuine friendship.
How many people in a similar situation do that?
John was more than a work buddy. John was a friend. He would have done
almost anything for me. I should have treated him the same way.
Don't do what I did. When circumstances change, when work is no longer the
glue that binds a relationship, do everything you can to maintain the genuine
friendships you formed.
Someday you might need a friend but, more importantly, someday your friend
might need you. John needed me. I could have helped. I could have made a
difference, however small.
Genuine friendships are too precious to waste. Stay in touch with your
buddies... but do everything you can to hang on to your friends.
