Chapter 13: Doors Closing, Doors Opening: Changes at Work

A Letter from Elena

Dear Jiwoo, for thirty-four years I have cooked lunch for the children at a primary school. I start in the kitchen before seven, when the building is still quiet and the only sound is the big pots warming up. By noon there are hundreds of plates to fill, and I know which children will not eat carrots, which ones need a second helping, and which ones arrive hungry because there was no breakfast at home. At the end of this school year, I will retire.

I chose this. My knees are tired, and my husband and I have talked about it for a long time. So I should be happy, and in some ways I am. But lately I wake at night with a cold feeling in my stomach that I have felt only once before. When I was twenty-six, the clothing factory where I worked closed with two weeks' notice. I remember standing at the gate with my last pay in an envelope, feeling as if the ground had been taken away from under my feet. I was ashamed to tell my mother.

Things at the school are changing too. This year a new young manager arrived. She is kind, but she has brought a new ordering system on a screen, new menus and new rules for everything. Sometimes I feel slow and old beside her, and I catch myself thinking that perhaps it is a good thing I am leaving. That thought makes me sad.

I do not know who I will be when I no longer walk into that kitchen every morning. For thirty-four years, when people asked me what I did, I could answer in one word. How does a person face the end of a working life, and the changes that come before it, without losing herself? Elena

Dear Elena

Thank you for your letter. I read it slowly, because I could almost smell that kitchen at seven in the morning, with the pots warming and the building still quiet. Thirty-four years of noticing which child needs a second helping is a remarkable piece of work. I want to say that at the beginning, before we talk about anything else, because people who do steady, caring work for a long time are not thanked nearly often enough.

Your letter holds three changes at once. There is the change that is coming, your retirement. There is the change that is already here, the new manager and the new ways of working. And there is a change from long ago, the closing of the factory, which has woken up again inside you. I think it makes sense that they have arrived together. A large ending often reminds us of earlier endings, especially the ones that hurt.

This reply is for you, and it is also for every reader who is facing a change at work: starting a first job, moving to a new team, learning a new system, losing a job, changing careers, or leaving paid work for good. For this letter I have compared what several kinds of sources say about change. They include psychology textbooks, public mental health guides, workplace-safety agencies in general, international organizations that work on health and on ageing, general explanations of research about later life, and the traditional wisdom that many cultures hold about growing older.

Why Even Chosen Change Shakes Us

You wrote that you should be happy, because you chose to retire. Many people are surprised to feel uneasy about a change they wanted. Psychology textbooks explain this in a helpful way. Almost every change, even a good one, includes a loss. When you gain free mornings, you lose the kitchen, the routine, the children's faces and the feeling of being needed at a certain hour. The gain does not cancel the loss. Both are real, and both deserve attention.

Writers on change often describe it as having three parts, even if they give the parts different names. First there is an ending, when something familiar is let go. Then there is an in-between time, when the old way has gone and the new way has not yet taken shape. Finally there is a new beginning. Many people expect to jump straight from the ending to the beginning. In real life, the in-between time is often the longest and the most uncomfortable part, and it is where that cold feeling at night tends to live.

I find this idea comforting, because it means the in-between feeling is not a sign that something has gone wrong. It is a normal part of the journey. Public mental health guides often add that during such a time it helps to keep some routines steady, to be patient with yourself, and to expect some days of feeling lost. They do not promise that the unease will disappear quickly. But they do say, quite consistently, that for most people it eases as a new pattern of life slowly forms.

The changes at your school are a different kind of change, but they shake people for similar reasons. Workplace-safety agencies in general list poorly managed change as a common source of stress at work. Their public guidance usually suggests that workers cope better when they are told clearly what is changing and why, when they have a chance to ask questions, and when they get enough time and training to learn new ways. When these things are missing, even capable, experienced people can start to feel slow or foolish. That feeling says more about how the change was introduced than about the person.

In one hospital records office, the staff moved from paper files to a computer system in a single season. One clerk had worked there for almost thirty years and knew where every folder was kept. For the first months she felt clumsy and afraid of making mistakes on the screen. What helped her, she said later, was a younger coworker who sat beside her for ten minutes each morning, and her own decision to keep a small notebook of the new steps in her own words. Within a year, she was the one the new staff came to with questions, because she understood both the old records and the new ones.

Perhaps there is a lesson here for you and your new manager. You know things about that kitchen that no ordering screen can show: which suppliers deliver late, which dishes the children actually eat, and which quiet child is hungry on Monday mornings. Your manager knows the new system. The two of you could teach each other. If you feel able to, you might offer to write down some of what you know before you leave. Many people find that handing on their knowledge turns an ending into something closer to a gift.

The Day the Factory Closed

Now I want to go back with you to the factory gate, to the young woman of twenty-six holding her last pay in an envelope. I think she deserves some kindness from us both, many years later.

Public mental health guides that talk about losing a job describe reactions that are often similar to grief. People may feel shock, disbelief, anger, sadness, shame, and a deep worry about money and the future. Some people feel as if they have lost a part of who they are. These guides are clear that such reactions are normal responses to a real loss. Losing work does not only take away an income. It can take away daily structure, friendships, a sense of usefulness and a place in the world.

The shame you felt is something these guides mention often, too. Many people who lose a job feel that it must somehow be their fault, even when a whole factory closes and hundreds of people lose their jobs on the same day. But when a workplace closes, the loss is not a judgement on the people who worked there. You did not fail. A business ended, and you happened to be standing inside it when it did. I hope that the woman you are now can say this to the woman you were then.

For any reader who is losing a job now, the sources offer advice that is quite similar from guide to guide. Try to keep some daily routine, such as getting up at a regular time, going outside and moving your body. Stay in contact with people, even if you feel like hiding. Tell those close to you what has happened, so that you do not have to carry it in secret. Look for practical information about money and next steps, and ask for help with it. And if the sadness, worry or shame stays heavy for weeks, or makes it hard to manage daily life, talking to a doctor or another qualified professional is a sensible step.

There is one more thing worth noticing about your story, Elena. After the factory closed, you found the school kitchen, and you stayed there for thirty-four years. That young woman at the gate could not see this future, but it was there. I do not say this to make light of how hard that time was. I say it because your own life holds proof of something that every person facing a loss needs to hear: the ground that was taken away was not the only ground there was.

More Than a Job Title

You wrote that for thirty-four years you could answer the question about what you did in one word. Many people know that feeling. In many places, one of the first questions people ask a stranger is what work they do. The answer quickly becomes a kind of name tag. So when the work ends, the name tag falls off, and a person can feel as if part of their identity has gone with it.

Psychology textbooks describe identity, our sense of who we are, as something made of many parts. A person may be a cook, a wife, a mother, a friend, a neighbour, a gardener, a singer in a choir, someone who is good with children, and someone who laughs easily. Work is often one of the biggest parts, especially for people who have done the same work for a long time. But it is never the only part. When one part becomes quieter, the others have room to grow.

It may help to think about what you actually did all those years, rather than only the name of the job. You fed children. You planned and organized large amounts of food for hundreds of people every day. You noticed who was hungry and quietly made sure they were fed. You worked as part of a team in a hot, busy kitchen and kept calm under pressure. These are not things that live inside a school building. They are qualities that live inside you, and they will come with you when you leave.

Many cultures hold traditional wisdom about older people that is worth remembering here. In many places, older people are seen as keepers of knowledge, story and skill, the ones who teach younger people how things are done and why. These traditions do not see later life as the end of usefulness. They see it as a change in the kind of usefulness a person offers. You may not cook for hundreds of children again, but you may teach a grandchild a recipe, help a neighbour, or share what you know in ways you cannot yet imagine.

I once heard about a fisherman who, after many years at sea, handed his boat to his daughter. He had worried that he would feel useless on land. Instead, he found that he spent many mornings on the harbour wall, mending nets with the younger crews and answering their questions about the weather and the currents. He was no longer the one who sailed out, but he was still part of the life of the harbour. He said that his work had not ended. It had only changed its shape.

Rest, Purpose and People

What should a person do with a new life after work? Here the sources say different things, and I think it is worth comparing them honestly. Some traditional views of retirement focus mainly on rest. They see it as a reward that has been earned through long years of labour, a time to slow down and be cared for. Many public health guides for older people put more weight on staying active: moving the body, learning new things, keeping up friendships and having some purpose in the week.

International organizations that work on health and on ageing tend to describe later life in a hopeful way. Their public information often speaks of older people as active members of their families and communities, and of healthy ageing as the ability to keep doing the things one values for as long as possible. General explanations of research about later life often mention three things that seem to support wellbeing: staying connected with other people, having something meaningful to do, and keeping the body moving. These sources do not say that older people must keep busy all the time. They say that connection and purpose matter at every age.

I do not think these views are as opposed as they first seem. Your knees are tired, and you have earned rest. It would be reasonable to give yourself a real break after you leave, without rushing to fill every hour. But after that rest, many people find that they want some shape to their week again. Perhaps a regular walk with a friend, time with family, a class, some volunteering, or simply a fixed morning for a market or a garden. The structure does not need to look like a working day. It only needs to give your weeks some rhythm.

In a public park, a group of retired people meets every morning to do slow exercises together under the trees. Some of them used to be bus drivers, some were teachers, and one ran a hardware shop for forty years. Nobody asks what anyone used to do anymore. They talk about their knees, their grandchildren and the weather, and then they move together in silence for half an hour. One woman said that the group had given her back two things she missed most after she stopped working: a reason to get up at a certain time, and people who notice when she is not there.

Your coworkers matter in all of this too. Public mental health guides about retirement often mention that people miss the everyday company of work more than they expect. You might talk with the other kitchen staff about how you will stay in touch, perhaps a meal together every few months. You might also ask the school whether there is a way you could come back now and then, to help at an event or to see the children at the end of the year. Some people find it easier to leave a place when they know they are not saying goodbye to it forever.

Your home life will change as well, and it may be worth talking about this with your husband before the school year ends. Guides about retirement often point out that when one or both partners stop working, the shape of the shared day changes in ways that couples do not always expect. Someone who used to have the house to themselves in the mornings may suddenly have company all day. Small habits, such as who cooks, who shops and who decides how the day is spent, may need to be agreed again. None of this is a problem in itself. It simply helps to talk openly about what each of you hopes for, what each of you would like to keep for yourselves, and how you will make room for both time together and time apart. A cook who has run a busy kitchen for thirty-four years may also need to agree, with a smile, on whose kitchen it is at home.

I would also encourage you to mark your ending properly. Many cultures have customs for endings: a meal, a gathering, words of thanks, a small gift or a ceremony. These customs exist because people have always needed a clear way to say that something important is finishing. Let your coworkers and the school thank you. Let the children say goodbye. It can feel uncomfortable to be the centre of attention, but a good farewell can help the heart understand what the mind already knows.

And please be gentle with yourself in the in-between time. There may be mornings next year when you wake before seven and feel the pull of the kitchen. There may be days when you feel lost, and days when you feel free. Both are part of the journey. If the cold feeling at night grows heavier rather than lighter over time, or if you feel low for weeks, talking to a doctor or another qualified professional would be a good step. Most of all, keep talking to the people you love about what you are feeling. Change is easier to carry when it is shared.

With warm wishes, and with deep thanks for every lunch you served, Jiwoo

A Question to Think About

Every working life has its endings and beginnings, whether they are near or far away. If your current work, or the main thing you do each day, came to an end tomorrow, which parts of you would you want to carry forward into whatever comes next?

You might begin by listing what your work asks of you that you are proud of, not the job title, but the skills, habits and kinds of care you bring to it. You might ask which of these could find a place in other parts of your life. You might also think about a change you went through in the past that frightened you at first, and notice what helped you through the in-between time.

If you are just starting out in working life, you could ask a different version of the question. What would you like the people around you to remember about how you worked, many years from now?