Comedy or Tragedy

I stumbled out of the Metro this morning at Metro Center just as the bells of the Church of the Epiphany were ringing in 8 o'clock--time for me to be in the office and not just outside it. At the top of the escalator a youngish man in dreads serenaded commuters with a keyboard and a mediocre voice: "What a Wonderful World."

Is it? I suppose so. But at 8 in the morning after nearly two weeks of not getting enough sleep, it's a question worth asking.

I began to wonder if the dreadlocked musician was my own personal Greek chorus, commenting on the action of my day. (It figures my private Greek chorus would have a mediocre voice.) I almost began to laugh, although as yet uncaffeinated and thus insensate, at the thought of Mr. Dreadlock following me around all day, singing pertinent pop songs as my day unfolds. I have a feeling this sensation is not original--in fact, it smells suspiciously of sitcom. But there it is.

I can still hear waves of his music wafting up at my 5th floor office, past the Caribou Coffee. I'm not sure what song he's playing, as the sound is just far enough away to be heard but indisctinct. So I'm not sure what's coming up for me later. But he told me earlier it's a wonderful world, and it's possible he's right.

Hello, Goodbye

It seems like I just came to the Association, and now I'm leaving. I've spent three short years there, but the place grew on me like kudzu--it's beautiful, but it's invasive.

I gave a bigger chunk of my life to the Association than I was expecting to. I gained experience, grew frustrated, lost my mind, gave up my weekends--but I worked with some of the best people I've ever known. Leaving was necessary, but it was painful.

It's funny how you often don't know what people think of you until you leave a place and they think they won't see you anymore. I always felt I was the fortunate one to get to know and work with these people, but I was surprised by their generous goodbye. Two of my favorite comments (and I'm blushing to repeat them, but I must write them down so I never forget):

"You were a breath of fresh air this place really needed."

"I can't believe the one positive person around here is leaving."

I'm not sure what it is about me that felt fresh, but I loved hearing that. And as for positive, well, I've been anything but positive lately, or I wouldn't have considered leaving. I've been weighed down, and I've felt burdened. And I'm not one to suffer in silence, so often I've moaned to my staff about The Man and The Association Establishment and the Idiotic Things They Do. I felt that I was dragging them down and that it would be my leaving that would give them the fresh air they needed. It never once occurred to me that I might have brought a draft when I came in.

Leaving is beyond a doubt what I need to do--for my sanity, my family, and my waistline. But I didn't want to have to do it. I wanted to want to stay there forever. But maybe when I shut the door behind me this afternoon, a fresh breeze wafted in that will invigorate the ones I left behind.