[Finding the Shape of My Place] #9. What Comes After Next?
Struggling between inertia and initiative, I continued to wrestle with my decision even after reaching my fifth anniversary. Around that time, I applied to several companies and went through interviews to change jobs, but finding a place that felt like the perfect fit proved difficult. Meanwhile, the company was in turmoil both internally and externally. A union was formed, and the founder and CEO, who had built trust with employees over many years, had long since disappeared from official events. The winds of change began blowing through our organization, which had previously seen little upheaval. Terms like "voluntary resignation" and "early retirement" started circulating, and commuting to a company where rumors ran rampant every day became increasingly difficult.
And then came the events that unfolded just over a year ago. Looking back now might still be too soon. At the time, I had many conversations while deciding to resign and take my first new job, and I even documented that process in writing. But honestly, I still don't quite have the courage to open that writing again. I didn't realize it then, but if I had to recall one moment that feels most important now, it would be that coffee chat with K, the engineering manager of a unicorn startup, at that lovely cafe in Imae Garden.
"So, you've decided on your next move. What about the next step after that? What does your roadmap look like going forward?"
I couldn't give a proper answer to that question. I'd barely settled on my next move—did I really need to be thinking about the next step after that already? That's what I thought inside, but outwardly, I just said, "Well, I don't know… haha…" Truthfully, I had no roadmap at that time. I was solely focused on leaving this company and moving to that one. I had to seize this unexpected opportunity and hold on tight. And at some point, I'd started thinking I shouldn't overthink or overanalyze too much; I should just let things flow. This is how I answered.
"Well… for now, I just want to live with the flow."
Mr. K, who had been smiling kindly throughout the hour-and-a-half conversation, changed his expression and replied firmly.
"That won't do."
"Why…?"
Mr. K explained why you must define the next step after the next. He said that only after contemplating it and planning my career roadmap should I move to the next step, ensuring I can succeed in 'that next step'. It was truly important advice.
But back then, I wasn't at a stage where I could fully grasp that advice. And in the 'next step' I took without considering the 'next step after that', unexpected times unfolded. Actually, since I hadn't expected anything, calling it unexpected might not be quite right. To summarize that short summer: Gangnam was too crowded, and June through August that year were unbearably hot. I stood in a corner of the company building's stairwell, unable to go forward, backward, up, or down. During lunch breaks, I wandered around Sinnonhyeon Street without eating. My shoulders hurt so much I became like a pitcher who couldn't throw the ball anymore. And when I said I couldn't throw anymore, that I needed to rest now, "What? You can't say that on the mound in that situation. You have to say you can do more, you can throw more, you have to make them believe you." How strange.
What allowed me to recover from that time was the autumn break I spent in Wonju. Somehow, it became 'Next's Next'—or maybe this was actually my real 'Next'. It was a time to prepare for that Next. I spent two weeks at Sang-eun's comfortable, peaceful house, with the cats this afternoon. Whenever I started worrying or fretting, Sang-eun would sit me down in front of her gaming computer. "Play MapleStory! Level up and come back!" Every day, Sang-eun and I watched ⟨Black and White Chef⟩, played with the cats, and took walks around the neighborhood. We visited the local library, cooked delicious meals at home, and lazed around reading books. By the time that recovery period ended, my real 'next' had been decided.
[🍪Cookie] Around the time of my first job change, besides the conversation with K, one more comes to mind. It was a conversation I had with Haeju's mother at her parents' house in Cheongju. Back then, I was feeling restless about leaving the company I'd been at for five and a half years, and I poured out my feelings. I thought, "Maybe this company isn't so bad after all. It's so comfortable, familiar, and good. Is leaving really the right choice?" I told her that even after telling my team leader, finalizing the terms, and getting my resignation approved, I still wondered if it was the right choice. Her mother said that if I wanted to continue doing this kind of work in the future, it would be good to try moving on. I could learn more by experiencing different places. Then she said this:
"Why is it that when you go to the salon to get your hair cut, it always looks best right after? Isn't that how your heart feels right now?"
It was a perfect analogy. Then she added:
"But you know, I don't really complain about anything else. If my hair gets cut wrong, I don't make a big deal about it."
"Why not?" I asked. Both Haeju and her mother answered at the same time:
"It'll grow back."
Yeah, it'll grow back. That moment, the fear I felt about quitting my first job seemed to vanish completely, even though the hair story seemed completely unrelated to my resignation or job change. And now, a year later, having somehow gone through two resignations and arrived at 'Next's Next'—or rather, just 'Next'—those words feel even warmer.
"It grows back."
Just like hair that regrows over time, new skin is forming over my wounded heart. The career path that crumbled is being pieced back together, paving my future. It feels like the sweet scent of strawberries from my morning walk in Cheongju is rising again.