Coming to grips with unfashionable feelings of loyalty

Does staying with one employer show a fear of risk, and either a lack of imagination or a lack of opportunity?

DOES 25 years at this newspaper make me a disgrace?

One spring morning, 25 years ago this week, I presented myself for work for the first time at the Financial Timeswearing a brand new, orange corduroy skirt and feeling sick with nerves. Today, as on most other mornings in the past quarter of a century, I will present myself again for work, though these days I no longer wear orange corduroy and no longer feel especially nervous.

As on other mornings, I will take my place at my desk from which I report on the modern world of work, where no job is for life, all skills are portable and loyalty refers to a plastic card that you produce at the till at Tesco. In other words, it’s a world in which I’ve become an anachronism.

Last week I had lunch with an acquaintance, and by way of making conversation I said I was about to celebrate 25 years at the newspaper. “Twenty-five years,” he repeated, his face contorting with horror. “I would keep that quiet if I were you.”

I crept away after the lunch wondering whether he was right. Was the fact of having plodded on interminably with a single employer something to hush up or something to shout from the rooftops?

In almost every other relationship the answer is obvious: stability and longevity are something to celebrate. I’ve held on to the same friends I had at primary school – which I’m pleased about – and to the same husband I married 20 years ago – which I’m even more pleased about.

But 25 years with the same employer is rather different. There are no children involved, there is no value to the bond per se; to feel any loyalty to an employer who could fire you at any moment is soft in the head.

Staying put shows an aversion to risk, and either a lack of imagination or a lack of opportunity. At a time when we are supposed to value flexibility and change above all other things, careers like mine are a disgrace.

But then I started to think about my contemporaries and my spirits began to lift. Of my 10 closest friends, four have had the same sort of career as I’ve had: they flitted about promiscuously after university before settling down into a stable relationship with a single employer. One has done 27 years, and the others 22, 21 and 20 years respectively. At least in the circles I move in I’m not a weirdo.

Last week I convened a hasty focus group to discuss the pros and cons of being a professional stick in the mud. We agreed we were lacking in imagination and generally risk averse. But we also agreed that none of us had ever planned to stay put for so long. It had just happened – mainly because we enjoyed what we were doing and never found anything else more tempting.

And then one of my friends said she felt loyal to the values of the company and that they fitted her. I cringed, as I hate talk of company values. But although I wouldn’t have put it like that, I realised she was right. I have stayed because I fit.

Grudgingly, we all confessed to feelings of loyalty, however unfashionable that might be. We feel loyal to the people we work with, but also have some fondness for the company in the abstract too. If anyone ever assumes I work for the TimesI correct them snappily: Financial Times, I say.

We also agreed that the years had not passed in a monotonous blur. All of us had done different jobs within our companies, but, more importantly, our industries have changed a great deal in two decades. At the Financial Timesmy first long feature was about an ailing British manufacturer of agricultural equipment. That company no longer exists. The typewriter I wrote it on doesn't exist either. And most of the people who I worked with back then, though they still do exist, are no longer on this newspaper. This mixture of variety and stability has been most agreeable.

And if these arguments about the joys of long service fail to convince, there is one more. I’ve received a letter congratulating me on my silver jubilee, which was quite nice, and a gift of £1,000, which was nicer still. The problem now is what to spend it on.

I would like to do something symbolic with it, and first considered a smart new laptop. But then do I want to do even more work at home? What about Botox, to disguise the wrinkles gained? But then, as I’ve just claimed to be proud of the passing of time, it doesn’t seem right to start waging war with it.

Perhaps I’ll spend it on a couture suit of orange corduroy which, after 25 years in the fashion wilderness, is surely due for a comeback. – (Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2010)