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I saw their empty chairs at their empty desks and the emptiness of the walls surrounding them. I jokingly called them both traitors for the entire two weeks they were leaving. And they’d told us only two days apart from each other.
In two days, I’d lost two people I cared about. Which is okay because, obviously, things don’t last forever. We’ve all got to be thrown off course from time to time. And I’ve lost co-workers before, of course. This time it feels different, though. It feels different because this time I didn’t want to stay.
I wanted to go too.
. . .
I’m not sure about you, but I’ve struggled with the temporary stuff in life. The revolving door of people is one thing, but when they take their final bow and walk off stage left, you’re reduced to a puddle.
Not to be depressing as fuck here, but I think about all the time that goes by uselessly doing nothing. The Netflix, the 10 hour work days to get ahead, all the scrolling that gets done each day. And all of that spills into the tears I have every time I sit outside of a loved one’s grave.
I think about how precious all of this is. Like obviously my co-workers leaving is not as significant as losing a loved one, but it’s a little loss. A little loss that leads me back to those big losses. And those big losses dampen my heart. Dull my sparkle.
I’m like a little lightning bug. I hate this shit.
So I navigate my way back each day. I treat myself to something fun. A nice walk. A nice coffee. And I remind myself that I can’t let myself get to this place any longer. Because if I’m so caught up in the way things used to be, I’ll get caught up in a storm I really don’t want to be in the middle of.
I’m already a useless fucking sailor.
But I know I can swim.
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This post was previously published on www.medium.com and is republished here with permission from the author.
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Photo credit: unsplash.com
