New Chapters

It’s safe to say that I haven’t written anything in a while. There are so many reasons for my lack of activity, and maybe one day, when I get them sorted out, I’ll write them down. So, since I’ve been gone for so long, let me bring you up to speed. I have a new job, one that involves seemingly endless travel. For now I’ll remain in the US, but I’m really hoping that something international comes my way. I’m both excited and apprehensive about traveling, but it is what must be done. For the record, I’m tripling my salary, so you can bet I’m going to find a way to make the best of it. (Some may call me a fool for doing it, and that’s why I chose my picture.)

I’m going to try and keep a loose journal filled with interesting tidbits about the different cities I visit. Just kidding. Mostly, it will contain rants about the things I didn’t foresee or the characters I’ll come across. As always, my entries will be light and fluffy in nature, unless something really poignant or amazing happens. If it does, I’ll get out my emotional words and try to convince you of a great truth that everyone already knows but may enjoy a reminder of. And on that note, I’ll start at the beginning.

I’ve seen several articles on blogs across the web discussing whether or not making friends becomes harder as one grows older. Some say it is and some say it isn’t, and I used to count myself among those who felt that good friends just get fewer and farther between the longer I live. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that I’ve been meeting good friends my entire life. I can’t complain about that. I can, however, complain about leaving them. So, for the first entry of my journal, let me start whining right off the bat and relate what is really the first step in my new gypsy life: leaving Florida.

Odd as it may sound, I really enjoyed my previous job. For the first time in my life, I didn’t dread going to work. Now, that’s not to say that what I did was heaven on earth, but for the most part, it wasn’t bad. I think, though, what made it not suck so much was the abundance of really nice people to work with. I’ve never had so much fun and gotten paid for doing it. Anyway, when I said I was leaving, it was arranged that on my last day, we would all go to a restaurant that most of us knew and really liked. That, I thought, was a nice gesture on their part, and lunch for us all one more time sounded like the perfect send-off. I was light-hearted and excited about the future, and I fully expected them to get me a card and some sort of trinket as a reminder of the time I spent there.

In a way it was a little awkward, since we had all become the best of co-workers, always sharing a laugh or a lunch, and sometimes even meeting at someone’s house for a barbecue (read: drinking party), so it’s not like we never socialized outside of work. We were friends, but not really close. I had convinced myself that yes, I was going to miss them and no, I probably won’t ever find such a fun place to work again, but we’re all adults and everything would go smoothly. And that’s what I was thinking when I opened the small gift basket on the table in front of me.

The sudden realization that I’ve been wrong, so totally, wonderfully wrong, is a feeling that I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of. I love the instant when it suddenly becomes crystal clear that the people I think I know prove themselves to be far more than I had ever imagined. I am at once elated and humbled in those moments; it is a euphoric beyond any drug, and the lowest low. All of life’s major turning points have their indelible memories, and my departure from Florida will always mean that in one final lunch with my friends I realized that I was kidding myself when I thought they were just friends. With one simple gift, they did what only good friends do: They let you know that they care about you more than you know.

But what, you may ask, was in the gift basket? Well, it was a pen, but not just any pen. It was a Cross pen, much like any graduate would (or used to) get. By twisting the body, you can have black ink, red ink, or a pencil. There’s even an eraser hidden on top. It’s not a cheapie plastic thing, but a very nice writing instrument, and up near the pocket clip, my name is neatly engraved in a gothic looking font that’s not too big or too small. It is sleek and elegant, not gaudy at all. It is the perfect gift, and they knew that, and suddenly I knew it as I looked across the table at my smiling friends watching me open it. That I’m at a loss for words is a condition that should happen more often, but I really went speechless over the pen. Well, the pen and the sensation that I was floating as I woke up to the fact that I was surrounded by people who cared about me and would miss me. If that’s not bittersweet I don’t know what is.

I won’t bore you with the fluff and stuff of me telling my friends how I felt; it was just as sappy as you might think. I also won’t bore you with a snoozy soliloquy about how much I miss them now that I’ve gone. So, the only thing left to do is to honor the gift and, more importantly, the warmth they’ve shown me by using (the idea behind) the pen to write down stuff that happens to me so they can read it, along with anyone else who cares to. With every entry to my blog from now on, I am proving myself worthy of having friends such as the ones I left behind in Florida. I know I’ll never be famous, but I hope they know that they helped me to get out of my slump and realize that while I may make new friends in the years to come, I will always remember the ones who thought so well of me. There are no words to express how I feel about them. I hugged the ones I could, and that’s the best I could do, but it’ll never be enough.