Professional Change

I made the decision recently to quit a stable job for one in a completely different industry. I expected to be uncomfortable starting from scratch in a new environment. I wanted to be uncomfortable because I knew this meant challenging myself and growing in the process. I would be increasing my skill set and expanding my marketability. I had been feeling listless in my previous role; I felt that I’d learnt all I could have in my time there. So I quit.

It sounds deceptively simple on paper. But the lead up to that decision did not come easily at all. Change is incredibly difficult even when you know it will serve you well. I was fearful of the unknown. What if the new workplace was discouraging of professional growth, the opposite of what I had wanted? What if I couldn’t relate to my team? What if I remained stagnant or my efforts to excel weren’t recognised?

I thought long and hard about the possibility things would go south. Part of this was accepting that there will always be variables I can’t anticipate or control. Ultimately the decision to accept the job boiled down to the fact I had asked all the questions I could think to ask about my new workplace and its environment and nothing raised a red flag.

Throughout my first day I was in a state of controlled fluster. It had been a few years since I last found myself in a position to start from scratch. I had forgotten much of how it felt to be the new person. Outside of my unfamiliarity with the industry jargon and software tools, one surprise was a few coworkers mentioning how impressed and excited they were with my background experience, having been in both the software and non-profit industries. I was confounded. I thought of my work experience as a bit of a resume of failure. I saw it as a meandering path that weakened my application. They however saw it as a testament to my competency and fit in the organisation. The unexpected perspective was a timely reminder that we are our own worst critics.

The subsequent days were significantly better than that very first one. I truly appreciated the coworker who took the initiative to sit across me at lunch. In such a large organisation and with a remote team, I had felt a bit like the new kid at school figuring out which table to sit at. Another coworker checked in before a large meeting we had to make sure I knew what to expect. My internal team members all work remotely but sent me welcoming emails and messages. Their support was assuring.

Change is necessary and inevitable in life. We get so comfortable in our known ways of doing things that we become complacent. Eventually, we will always find something unsatisfactory that we decide we no longer identify with, prefer, or accept. In a workplace, this doesn’t always come about as a result of an organisational flaw, but may happen due to the layered expectations we develop over time. Whatever the reason, when we feel it’s time to go, it’s usually a good sign to move on. So take a calculated risk and leap into the unknown!

A Hairdresser and Her Clients

There’s a Vietnamese lady somewhere in Vancouver who runs a hair salon. She goes by the name Lydia. Her business is called “Nelly’s,” along with about 3 other unaffiliated salons by that name along the same stretch of road.

Her salon is a bit run-down. Anyone walking by would easily dismiss it. The battered wooden door gets jammed frequently and needs a firm lift by its tarnished knob before it will close properly. Nelly’s has one large storefront window overlooking the pavement with blinds that have ends pointing haphazardly in different directions. The printing on the glass pane needs replacing. The edges of the phone number printed in bold red on it are missing pieces, crumbling slowly.

Inside, you’ll find a perpetually running box TV attached to the innermost wall by the ceiling. There’s usually a soap opera playing on the screen, dubbed in Vietnamese. More often than not, Lydia has 2 friends chattering away animatedly to her about things I am not privy to. At times, her usually stoic demeanour cracks into a broad smile or nagging gesture. Routinely someone brings her hot food- soup in a plastic take out container, noodles in a styrofoam one.

If you drop by hoping for a haircut on a late weekend morning, you’ll have to wait. It’s usually packed with monosyllabic teen boys and their mothers dragging them there for a trim, as well as those coming in on their day off. Occasionally there will be a parent sitting in a chair holding a sobbing, squirming toddler in for their first haircut. Lydia gently holds the child’s chin in place and offers soothing words as the buzzing clipper moves too close to the little one’s scalp for their liking.

There is a quiet dignity about Lydia, and a steeliness in her eyes. She is always poised no matter the time of day, or how rude customers are. I appreciate that she doesn’t feel the need to make forced small talk.

I probably exchange under 10 words with her on most of my visits, although she seems to be more inquisitive about my personal life these days. Typically when it’s my turn, I smile, and she returns the expression, not so much with the edges of her mouth, but with her eyes. She always asks “same?” and I nod, cracking into a grin. She laughs because my answer hasn’t changed for years.

When she’s not too busy, she gets personal, asking me if I’m married, if I have children, if I want children. I answer politely that I’m focusing on my career. Without skipping a beat she asks if I have gone back to the Philippines recently. I catch her eye in the mirror, half wincing half smiling, and remind her for the umpteenth time that I’m Singaporean Chinese. And without fail, she always acts surprised that I am not Filipino. This back and forth banter about my ethnicity has been going on for more than 4 years.

Amidst the discussion, she pushes my head to the side she needs it at while cutting my hair. She briskly blows off the stray ends of hair left on my neck with a hair dryer and a clean cloth. One last check, and the cape is removed.

Visits to Nelly’s are a part and parcel of my routine every few months. I always look forward to it. There’s just something about the non-fussy everyday nature of the tiny hair salon and its owner.