Sunday, July 5, 2009

My Fred Jones II Day

Not sure if I wanted to write this down or not... so thought I would start and then decide afterwards...

Today I cleaned out my office. For those of you that don't know me, I had a day job (art being a passion and not a career for me). My day job was in risk management for the corporate & investment banking division of Wachovia. If you follow the banking sector at all, you know that Wells Fargo acquired Wachovia, which put me on the subordinated side of the deal and it thus far has not worked out the way I had hoped.

Career-wise, my time with Wachovia has been my most satisfying. I have enjoyed being at work - such that often it didn't even seem like work. I've enjoyed the people I've worked with - sharp people that cared about the firm and our customers - definitely not the evil bankers that are now the target of such media mire.

So today was a sad day - actually all the days since last fall have been touched with sadness, for many of us - but for me, today was especially sad. I cleaned out my office, which is an admission of the inevitable, that I am left to consider the next step for my career in financial services - and I suppose, to consider if it should even be in financial services.

Today is my Fred Jones day (a Ben Folds reference). I feel like I am deliberately drifting away, quietly and without any fanfare - we've all said the things that we needed to. My colleagues, my teammates, and those I've worked closely with. I am no longer a decision-maker, a goto leader, and my phone doesn't ring off the hook daily. I no longer get 300+ emails a day. But I did my job and the work has been neatly packaged and handed over to the acquirers who will be the stewards going forward.

So as I un-pack my boxes, and think about my time spent - and a lot of time was spent - I could think only of Ben Folds song Fred Jones II... and now, I'll smile, think about the possibilities, and move on...


  1. Fred Jones Part 2 Lyrics
    Artist(Band):Ben Folds
    Review The Song (0)
    Print the Lyrics

    Fred sits alone at his desk in the dark
    There's an awkward young shadow that waits in the hall
    He's cleared all his things and he's put them in boxes
    Things that remind him: 'Life has been good'
    Twenty-five years
    He's worked at the paper
    A man's here to take him downstairs
    And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones
    It's time
    There was no party, there were no songs
    'Cause today's just a day like the day that he started
    No one is left here that knows his first name
    And life barrels on like a runaway train
    Where the passengers change
    They don't change anything
    You get off; someone else can get on
    And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones
    It's time
    Streetlight shines through the shades
    Casting lines on the floor, and lines on his face
    He reflects on the day
    Fred gets his paints out and goes to the basement
    Projecting some slides onto a plain white
    Canvas and traces it
    Fills in the spaces
    He turns off the slides, and it doesn't look right
    Yeah, and all of these bastards
    Have taken his place
    He's forgotten but not yet gone
    And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones
    And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones
    And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones
    It's time

  2. I'm very glad you wrote. It was very touching.