Finding Joy in Snarkville

[I know it has been a long time, things have been happening -- but something happened tonight that reminded me why I did this once.  While this may be disjointed (and perhaps not funny), sometimes there is a new beginning inside a goodbye.]

About 7 years ago, I left a job to go to a new job.  The old job was one I’d grown to hate and the new job held a little excitement and a HUGE pay increase.  So, at my required farewell lunch (required because I’m not sure the people at my old job liked me anymore than I’d come to like them), one of the girls I did happen to like said something truly odd.  Despite the fact we’d hardly ever been social outside of work and there seemed to be no reason to believe what she was saying, she said, “I refuse to say goodbye.  I just have this feeling that we will see each other again.”  I have no idea why that stuck with me.  I can say that the lunch we had was the very last time I ever saw her — in fact, I can not remember her name. Maybe I liked her hope or her lack of experience, since I knew I would never look back and move on without regret.

At one time that story would not have phased me.  I would have felt sorrow for the young woman so mis-guided to not understand that saying goodbye is just a part of life.  At one time in my life I said goodbye with ease.  I’d change jobs and never look back.  I’d move across the country without a thought to the people I left behind.  I once giggled how I knew no one from high school anymore or really even college.  I kept no long term connections with anyone.  I would just pick-up and move on to the next spot and start anew.  At this point in my life, other than my family, I have ONE long distance friend — that I keep up with regularly.  I don’t know exactly how I pulled that off, but weekly phone calls helps — along with her understanding that my gifts will arrive at some point.  You’d think with my abilities to be hyper-connected on the net, I’d be better at it — but sadly, I’m not.

Then, I pulled my head out of my butt and saw that I was not in fact the center of the universe.  I know, I was shocked too.

Less than a year ago, I walked to pick Duke up from school with the Queen Mum.  We spoke of moving and changes and I said something I never thought I’d say, “I’m tried of being temporary.”  I moved to the District of Snark (DoS) knowing that I would move.  Six years later I moved to the Snark state.  Now, I face another move, but this is the first time I’m feeling both the excitement of the move and the loss of the people I’m leaving behind.  You see, this was the move I did something radical — I made friends.

This wasn’t the move that all was permenant from the beginning, I live in a temporary home (Frankenhouse) and I live with half my stuff packed (thanks, Frankenhouse), but I had something that would get me out of the house and bring me to be around people, good people.  Months before we left DoS, I learned to knit.  As a baby knitter, I moved 3,000 miles away from the only yarn store I’d been to and found people — People I like.  People who at least act like they like me.

I often say that I’m not like the people here, but in a shop filled with yarn, projects in our laps, we were all the same and yet vastly different.  I met women who are the type of people you want to just hang out with.  I have been in awe that these women even speak to me.  They are the biggest hearted group (you know the type — they knit for other people); they make the world a better place.  I don’t think they even know how much they inspire me.

So, the long way around this is that it is time I say goodbye again.  Tonight I was at knit night and there was cake (which was BEAUTIFUL) and laughter and teasing and everything I could have wanted in a goodbye — except that it had to end.  I held it together and didn’t cry, until I sat alone in my car on the way home.  For the first time in my life, I’ve been inspired to do something I’ve never been good at, keep my long distance friends.

The thing is this group of women gave me the one thing I never thought I’d find here in Snarkville — something that wasn’t temporary.  I know they will help me as I forge new ground in this — heck, there’s already talk of video during knit night.  So, as hard as this is to admit and harder knowing that I’m going to be doing it — for the first time in my life, I said exactly what I mean:  “I *WILL* keep in touch.  I want to be a part of your lives more.  I want you to be a part of mine.  I will miss you.  You have been the highlight of this part of my journey.  And thank you — for the laughs, the tears, and the constant encouragement for me to be better: a better person, a better knitter, a better friend.”

And with that, I bring you a return of Snarkville.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, May 27th, 2009 at 1:04 am and is filed under Mental Health. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.