Wistfulness

Today, I encountered an emotion that I haven't felt in a very long time.

Some context: We are moving to a smaller office tomorrow, so I spent part of today shipping the sofa and coffee table in our current office to my home. The office looked so empty, and then, in the space of a few minutes, several people said goodbye to me.

I know I'm being a bit melodramatic - two of the goodbyes were quite temporary (they're team members whom I'll see again within days). Meanwhile, one is a student who will return to London to resume her undergraduate studies, and one is someone we used to share the office with, who probably won't visit again for quite some time.

The feeling wasn't overpowering; the interesting aspect is how rare it is for me to feel it. It's a sense of regret and loss, and also of staying still in one place as others moved on.

It's difficult to describe in abstract terms, so I'll tell some stories instead.

WeWork

I have a strong attachment to our current office location. The entire building was completed around early 2018 (the mall didn't open until late 2019) and I've been there almost since the beginning.

The WeWork is on the 5th to 9th floors of the building, and I've worked out of four floors. I shared an office with my best friend on the 6th and 8th floors, and leased an office on the 7th and 9th floors. I suspect that my WeWork membership is probably one of the oldest ones still active in the building.

What I want to say is: In the transient world of coworking spaces, everyone else has come and gone. Even my best friend moved out. But I've stayed in one place, despite jumping from one office to another in this building.

Maybe some would feel a sense of pride in becoming one of the entrenched "elders" in this building. I feel that to some extent, but it's outweighed by the nagging thought that I've not progressed in these past three years.

Students

In my line of work, I say goodbye to students every year. Some keep in touch. The vast majority don't.

It makes sense, to be honest - nearly all of them go abroad, and even if they returned to Shanghai later, we usually would have few reasons to meet and catch up.

I try to persuade myself that the work remains interesting because each student is different, with their own personality and unique stories. Still, at times it feels like each application cycle is like a year-long Groundhog Day, where I relive the same challenges and results - just with a new batch of students each time. Honestly, it's NPC-like, the work of facilitating others' dreams.

I've been in this industry for the past seven years, and operated a business in this industry for the past three. I think I've learned most of what there is to learn, and the years have begun to blur together as a result. I'm reminded of the lyrics to a classic Cantonese song - 岁月无声消逝 (the years and months silently fade away).

More than 15 years ago, I made a commitment to avoid teaching at public schools because I couldn't stand the thought of doing essentially the same thing year after year for 40 years, with students who will mostly not remember me or acknowledge the importance of what I do.

I've recently found that my current work can be equally tedious as well, to the point that I'm resorting to cycles of deadlines and meetings that have kept my urge to procrastinate in check.

In one of his videos, Garry Tan advised that if we're not learning and earning, it's time to move on. We're wasting our life.

I think it's time for me to move on.