On Thursday evening, after a small, simple despedida to bookend my last day in the company, my former boss walked me to my friend’s place where my husband and I would be staying the night. He didn’t have to but I suspect he wanted to spend a little more time together. Maybe I did too.
It was a job I had for four years and four months. (Do those count as angel numbers?) It wasn’t always easy, wasn’t always fun or comfortable or fulfilling, but I loved it dearly. I loved the people I worked with—they were smart and strong and kind. I gained and nurtured friendships. I learned more than I thought possible. It was the job that welcomed me with open arms after my 12-year career in print publishing screeched to a halt in 2018, and it was the job that taught me the world was bigger than page plans and cover stories. It was the job that simultaneously allowed me to affirm and question what I was made of and whether that sufficed.
As we neared my destination I told my boss I was glad I’d stuck around long enough to see things through, to ride the ebb and flow of good days and bad days, to help my teammates do the same. “I know it didn’t always work out the way we hoped,” I said, my voice wobbling ever so slightly, betraying the brave face I’d put on all night. “But I’m glad I tried.”
“And you care,” he said, using the present tense. We both understood that all things considered that was the most crucial thing. Perhaps the only crucial thing. “I really do,” I said softly.
I’ve always believed that there are no right or wrong decisions. You make a decision and then you make it the right one. Although I made it intentionally and purposefully, I don’t think I’ve completely processed at this point what this decision means to me. Yesterday I was trying to capture it in words, that sharp, bittersweet pang of leaving something or someone behind, when I realized I’d already done it with a poem I’d written two years ago. When I was the one being left behind. Around this time in 2020, most of my closest work friends quit. I remember sitting at home trying to take it all in, wanting to hold on to the parts I hadn’t forgotten yet.
When I posted this on Instagram two years ago, I captioned it departures: remembering spaces and faces, even if none of it is ever permanent—especially because none of it is ever permanent. I wrote these things down because they didn’t seem like much. Or they didn’t seem like much but I wrote them down anyway.
So here’s to preserving the moments that unknowingly define us by capturing them in the warmest, most joyful light. By savoring them while we can and looking back on them with fondness and gratitude. Often in life we expect to be rewarded for doing our best; we work hard because we want to get somewhere. We’re wired for it to make sense that way. But maybe it’s not about where we’re going. Maybe it’s about the ones who walk us there.
2507
Remember shiny floors polished
overnight, red high heels knocking
on doors of attention or respect
Remember how the mid-afternoon
sun streamed in through windows
our heads bowed as if in prayer
fingers dancing racing against time
Remember the times we actually
looked up
There are ways to cry in a bathroom
stall secretly, softly because
your friend died flying a plane
and when you last saw him
all he wanted was to get
another drink, take another shot
Remember all those shots you took
don’t diminish them in your mind
don’t forget how you pointed
at the sky and fired and the sound
of it rang clear and true against
the flapping of wings
inside your ribcage
Remember the tremendous loneliness
of being the first one in or the last
one out, the switching on or off
of lights flooding spaces
with either hope or fear
as you arrive and leave
arrive and leave. Remember
our laughter bouncing off
each other remember a hand
outstretched offering something
small & sweet & crisp remember
that Friday night feeling knowing
everything was going to be okay
remember how cold it got some days
remember that one time the fridge
smelled rotten and we couldn’t
figure out what it was remember
the cacophony of chairs scraping
bags zipping shut screens clicking
into place maybe a suitcase wheeling
away an elevator’s precarious descent
its final ding announcing your return
to somewhere else you have to be
🔸🔸🔸
You so perfectly put into words what most of us have felt at some point.