As time passes, we forget how bad the bad times were, and we start to remember the good times as being better than they actually were. I saw this psychological trick first hand this week, and it was a little depressing.

At my old “Death Star” (work), I led a group of people who became pretty close pre-pandemic. One of our annual events was to truly decorate for Christmas. By “decorate,” I mean we went over the top. If it was a flat surface, it got tinsel. If there was a spot for lights, we strung them. We even got a 13-foot-tall live Christmas tree and built a star that was four feet wide.

Where small stormtroopers end up

 A lot of time went into it. I was the head cheermeister—it was really my thing—but we all genuinely liked it.

I was let go this year in February but had some personal Christmas items stored away in the rafters of the warehouse. When you gather your personal things in the 30 minutes you have, it does not include going to the warehouse. So this week, I went back to get some sentimental items, as the old team had decorated for Christmas.

in style “new” cubicle designs – closed concept spaces

Walking back in and looking around was harder than I thought. Walking back in It felt normal—like I should still be there. I spent almost eight years at this Death Star, and it still felt like my factory, my team, my place to run. 

I missed it. A lot. I’ve only been gone 10 months, yet my brain went right to the good times—right into that powerful emotion of belonging. I didn’t walk into the building feeling like I did when I left it 10 months ago; my mind went back to all of my best Christmases there. Christmas was always a great time.

In 2019, I had likely the best team reporting to me that I ever had, and we did a ton of fun stuff together.  Post pandemic it was never as good but there were still some decent times. I depended upon this team for a big part of my social life back then. Quite frankly, it hurt that I wasn’t there, because I was focusing on the past, the “best of times.”

I taught him how to smile

But it isn’t 2019. The truth is, even before I left, the fun was fading. In the time I was there post-2020, my job became focused on protecting the team because I cared for them. The work itself was contractual and lumpy. When I joined the team in 2015, I had about 40 people, which had shrunk to 25 people by the beginning of 2019. By 2019, we were running out of work, and I started to move people into better, safer jobs in other departments.

Of the 40 people I started with, I worked very closely with eight of them. This was my core, my fun team. By mid-2020, I had moved five of them to other departments. We were still friends, but the fun was gone, as we did not work together on any regular basis. With limited work, my last three years were quite boring. I spent more time on the Dark Side near the end then on the Light .

What I had forgotten was I actually started looking for a new role outside the company.  I was looking to leave. My good team no longer made up for the bad political game that i was a part of

But going back in for the first time my feelings and thoughts automatically centered on how much I missed those core people. I still see them every now and then, but it is not the same. It can’t be. Without a common link of work, it is actually a little awkward with some of them. We were really good work friends. Take away the work, and we are still friends based upon history but we are not as close.

So why do our emotions fool us into focusing on the good? Even to amplify our feelings beyond what they were? When I stepped in there, I should have remembered how bored I was and how I was looking for a new job. The bad should have got some air time in my head.  I should not have felt this nostalgic after just 10 months away

It might have been because it was Christmas time, which was such a good time for us. But I really had a hard time giving up the feeling of ownership. This was my team for a quarter of my career.  I still get upset when I hear about the changes the new boss is making.

So maybe it is about time. Maybe as I am gone longer, I will start remembering the good times a little less vividly and the bad times will get equal weight. I am sure there is some psychological theory on why our memory works this way—maybe to make us feel better about ourselves.

 For older jobs, it is harder for me to remember the hard times. But the good times are also less vivid from an emotional standpoint. I remember the events, but not the emotions tied to them. My last job is still fresh.

Maybe it will sting less as I embrace my new Death Star. I have intentionally been trying to keep my circle small and not get attached or ingrained as I normally do. Part of that is because the current job is not what I consider my core skill set, partly because I am not going to be here long, and partly because it is mostly remote.

The question is how to fully let go of that strong “attachment” emotion I felt going back to my old spot. This is part of retiring some day. To give up part of our identity. To put it down and to look forward to a new us instead of backwards at who we were.

The brain is a weird creature. The hardest part of moving on, I realize, isn’t finding a new job—it’s convincing your heart that it no longer owns or wants the old one.

Moving on is about the new stories.  The new Christmases. The new fun.

To you and your family. I hope you have a Happy Holidays.

and to all a good night