This week at All Souls Church, there was a short reflection on the sermon, Gift, Grace, and Letting Go. in which the speaker talked about the change of seasons, and how just as the leaves fall from trees, so to must we let go of that which has served its purpose. The sentiment hit home, deep within my core, and I immediately embraced it. Now, perhaps Hiking Viking or Vegitect might understand its resonance, and internalize it with some bittersweet sentiment. And if so, he would be right to be so self-centered, I did go there...With the falling of the leaves...
But also, it is a metaphor for so much - almost every thing in our lives which has served its value and given its gift must be surrendered to realize its full grace.
Tonight, I had drinks with M, my colleague from work whom I've written about here before. M is my colleague, my friend, and warm, loved, character from my dreams underwritten by a score of sexual tension. M is in his last week at the office before he begins his new job at a private investment fund.
His departure has truly shaken me. Since he started with us almost four years ago, M has transformed our little non-profit, loosey-goosey shop to a serious operation. Mostly through his talents for accounting, budgets, systems, and operations, he built a framework for planning, policies, and finance. It was always good knowing that M was around - he inspired my trust and my confidence, and that was always a relief. He unburdoned so much, and that was truly a gift. But he gave many others.
M was my rock. Not just for knowing our finance and operations were under good stewardship, but he was a voice of reason (often a sarcastic, ironic, and irreverent voice) in times of institutional insanity. Whether it was human resources chaos with griping, whining staff who would rather devote the lionshare of meetings to flextime than donor reporting requirements. I'd go to his office, and I say, "Am I crazy or are priorities reversed around here?" "You are not crazy," he'd assure me, "They are." On many occasions over the years, he'd express unsolicited confidence in me, asking me if I'd ever consider running an organization, and even tonight said he again mentioned that he believed in my leadership now and in the long-term. Whenever I doubted and second-guessed myself, he provided reassurance.
M and I have more in common than not, but we differ quite a bit nonetheless. He's a politically conservative, suburban married dad who is completely, I mean completely, devoted to work and family. Next to him, I'm a Manhattan socialite. He's rather unemotional - stoic, dry, dispassionate, very black-and-white - though I did see sadness, disappointment and hurt cross his eyes on several occasions. He's not particularly effusive or affectionate - we never, ever, ever touch. I saw him get angry a few times, and frustrated. A few times, we vehemently disagreed on something, and argued it out without reaching consensus. But I have never disagreed with someone so strongly that I respected as much. And I have never disagreed with someone as much without it affecting our next interaction, at least on the short-term. M and I would always be back to normal, on to the next issue. A few times, I apologized for my passionate diatribes, and every time, he'd say, "It's alright," or "You didn't do anything wrong."
M is my friend, my best friend, at the office. M heard the stories of my divorce. M was aware of the surrounding whirlwind context when my father was dying. There is no one else at the office, and few in my life, I could share that with. M was the one I told when I learned my ex re-married - when I learned on Facebook. M know my misgivings about my ex, and my struggle to work with it anyway for the good and innocence of my daughter. M knows the harried chaos of my work-home-kid-life precarious juggling act. M knows some of my dating stories.
Tonight, as we finished our second round of drinks and settled the bill, I told him most of this. He knew, of course, but I said it aloud. Since he told me a month ago of his impending departure, I have been profoundly shaken for all these reasons. I had difficulty saying anything - a little denial, a little avoidance, a little too busy to make time for real human connection. Plus, I knew I would cry. And I did cry when I told him at the bar, all that I appreciated and valued in him, and how much I would miss him in my daily work life. I didn't just well up, I started full force crying - wet tears, quavering voice, twisted mouth crying - all by the time I got to my third word. And I struggled to contain myself, but it was not to be. So after telling him all that needed to be said as succinctly and quickly as I could (minus the part about the slight attraction I have for him, because that just could not be said without unraveling and discrediting the rest), I quickly composed myself, and thanked him. For it had been said, and there was no need for any more tears or compliments - he now knew it officially.
M, slightly uncomfortable, but not shying away, returned the compliments and sentiments. But that part, while warming, hardly matters, because what was more poignant and special for me was telling him what he means to me, thanking him for all he gave, saying that he will be sorely, sorely missed. And I am grateful to have accessed my unfiltered emotions - an infrequent occurrence, for me, and I suppose, for many.
Leaves are falling fast from the trees. I have no choice here. It is time to let go of that which has served its purpose. And I will surrender to the fates - to life's path, of which I know not even the next minute ahead - the next people, the next steps, the next turns, the next gifts that will grace my life.
But also, it is a metaphor for so much - almost every thing in our lives which has served its value and given its gift must be surrendered to realize its full grace.
Tonight, I had drinks with M, my colleague from work whom I've written about here before. M is my colleague, my friend, and warm, loved, character from my dreams underwritten by a score of sexual tension. M is in his last week at the office before he begins his new job at a private investment fund.
His departure has truly shaken me. Since he started with us almost four years ago, M has transformed our little non-profit, loosey-goosey shop to a serious operation. Mostly through his talents for accounting, budgets, systems, and operations, he built a framework for planning, policies, and finance. It was always good knowing that M was around - he inspired my trust and my confidence, and that was always a relief. He unburdoned so much, and that was truly a gift. But he gave many others.
M was my rock. Not just for knowing our finance and operations were under good stewardship, but he was a voice of reason (often a sarcastic, ironic, and irreverent voice) in times of institutional insanity. Whether it was human resources chaos with griping, whining staff who would rather devote the lionshare of meetings to flextime than donor reporting requirements. I'd go to his office, and I say, "Am I crazy or are priorities reversed around here?" "You are not crazy," he'd assure me, "They are." On many occasions over the years, he'd express unsolicited confidence in me, asking me if I'd ever consider running an organization, and even tonight said he again mentioned that he believed in my leadership now and in the long-term. Whenever I doubted and second-guessed myself, he provided reassurance.
M and I have more in common than not, but we differ quite a bit nonetheless. He's a politically conservative, suburban married dad who is completely, I mean completely, devoted to work and family. Next to him, I'm a Manhattan socialite. He's rather unemotional - stoic, dry, dispassionate, very black-and-white - though I did see sadness, disappointment and hurt cross his eyes on several occasions. He's not particularly effusive or affectionate - we never, ever, ever touch. I saw him get angry a few times, and frustrated. A few times, we vehemently disagreed on something, and argued it out without reaching consensus. But I have never disagreed with someone so strongly that I respected as much. And I have never disagreed with someone as much without it affecting our next interaction, at least on the short-term. M and I would always be back to normal, on to the next issue. A few times, I apologized for my passionate diatribes, and every time, he'd say, "It's alright," or "You didn't do anything wrong."
M is my friend, my best friend, at the office. M heard the stories of my divorce. M was aware of the surrounding whirlwind context when my father was dying. There is no one else at the office, and few in my life, I could share that with. M was the one I told when I learned my ex re-married - when I learned on Facebook. M know my misgivings about my ex, and my struggle to work with it anyway for the good and innocence of my daughter. M knows the harried chaos of my work-home-kid-life precarious juggling act. M knows some of my dating stories.
Tonight, as we finished our second round of drinks and settled the bill, I told him most of this. He knew, of course, but I said it aloud. Since he told me a month ago of his impending departure, I have been profoundly shaken for all these reasons. I had difficulty saying anything - a little denial, a little avoidance, a little too busy to make time for real human connection. Plus, I knew I would cry. And I did cry when I told him at the bar, all that I appreciated and valued in him, and how much I would miss him in my daily work life. I didn't just well up, I started full force crying - wet tears, quavering voice, twisted mouth crying - all by the time I got to my third word. And I struggled to contain myself, but it was not to be. So after telling him all that needed to be said as succinctly and quickly as I could (minus the part about the slight attraction I have for him, because that just could not be said without unraveling and discrediting the rest), I quickly composed myself, and thanked him. For it had been said, and there was no need for any more tears or compliments - he now knew it officially.
M, slightly uncomfortable, but not shying away, returned the compliments and sentiments. But that part, while warming, hardly matters, because what was more poignant and special for me was telling him what he means to me, thanking him for all he gave, saying that he will be sorely, sorely missed. And I am grateful to have accessed my unfiltered emotions - an infrequent occurrence, for me, and I suppose, for many.
Leaves are falling fast from the trees. I have no choice here. It is time to let go of that which has served its purpose. And I will surrender to the fates - to life's path, of which I know not even the next minute ahead - the next people, the next steps, the next turns, the next gifts that will grace my life.
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