Such Sweet Sorrow

Citation

(2009), "Such Sweet Sorrow", Accounting, Auditing & Accountability Journal, Vol. 22 No. 7. https://doi.org/10.1108/aaaj.2009.05922gaa.001

Such Sweet Sorrow

Article Type: Literature and insights From: Accounting, Auditing & Accountability Journal, Volume 22, Issue 7

Are you happy at work? Periodically, an article will appear about what people value most in their employment situation. Whether based on a formal survey or more anecdotal evidence, it usually stresses that it is less often a matter of money than might be supposed. Whatever other satisfactions there are, one that figures prominently is always recognition. Yes, a whacking big salary can offset the miseries that afflict us in high-pressure jobs but it seems we would mostly trade some of that for a little more love.

We have all heard of the mid-life crisis that causes someone to press the eject button and to leave a secure job. A decision to shift from, say, middle management to orchid farming, or from business advising to running a boutique bakery is typical, but what of the sideways move? A person struggling with a heavy workload and a lack of acknowledgement may well decamp for a job with essentially similar demands but with the benefit a healthy dose of respect. This is often expressed in kind rather than cash – such as extra facilities, or more flexibility in hours, or an occasional public announcement about their achievements.

Musing over this question with one of your esteemed editors recently, we realised that we do sometimes still look back and reflect. After the decision to move on, however painful, has been made and the old job left behind, we do wonder how the next incumbent is faring. Perhaps more vitally, we might also ask whether anyone there misses us. And if the answer is that the place is in denial and still failing to deal with the problems that saw us depart, or is unable to replace us at all, there may even be a little jolt of pleasure – a bit of the “I told you so” meshed with just a soupçon of “serves them right”.

Try this: ask what your peers have experienced in such situations. You will hear about the overworked person who was continually told to “work smarter, not harder”, but who had to be replaced by two people when they left. You will hear about the person whose old job is still unfilled because, presumably, other would-be applicants know a raw deal or a toxic job when they see one. The departure may have triggered a long-deferred restructuring or even a period of decline. Realistically, the old workplace is unlikely to be immersed in sorrow like some rejected lover pining for the good old days and a chance to make amends, but it would only be human to wish the responsible bosses a little opportunity for reflection and self-improvement, wouldn't it?

We know that Shakespeare was not thinking about job switching when he wrote that “parting is such sweet sorrow”, but then he would have perfectly understood schadenfreude. So, how do you feel when you look back? If you are striding unequivocally into a bright new future with no rearward glances at all, bless you. If not, and if this pondering does indeed touch a nerve, read on.

Sharing Kerry Jacobs's poem “value in exchange” with a few colleagues quickly produced a flurry of responses in verse, one of them my own. Kerry's comment on people being seen as commodities echoes the oft-quoted remark by one of the Honda Racing Corporation's managers who said that their motorcycle racers were like light bulbs: “You unscrew one and screw another into its place”. No sense of loyalty there! The sting is in Lee D. Parker's “A bird in the hand”, though, where we discover that there can be a cost to indifferent management decisions regarding employees. Kate Deller-Evans's “On leaving a job” expresses the satisfying tingle that comes with the decision to move on and, for my part, I imagined a job that remained unfilled, a kind of ghost town vacancy.

Happy? I hope you are, and that you will always be appreciated in your work. I welcome your contributions to this journal.

Steve EvansLiterary Editor