What I Would Have Said

A week ago today I received an award from the Small College where I've spent most of my professional career. The college recognizes five-year increments of service, and I had already collected my marble pen set, the college seal bookends, and the engraved salad bowl. This year I have been working there for three decades, which apparently is the crystal vase commemoration year.

I was conflicted about whether to attend the ceremony or not. Three years ago, I was told that while I would still be employed at the college, my employment was being drastically changed. It was unexpected and, frankly, unwelcome news.

So the thought of attending a ceremony to celebrate (woohoo!) 30 years was...fraught. The Boys, who have been my anger surrogates as I worked through All The Feelings associated with the end of my professional career, had all kinds of unprintable suggestions. But Husband had the best advice:

"You've done good work, and you only have one shot at this. You don't want to regret not showing up." And then he added a clincher: "And don't forget that they usually ask the 30-year recipients to make some comments."

Well. I was the only 30-year recipient, and since the organizers may have been unsure about what I would actually use my microphone opportunity to say, they skipped the comments moment. Fortunately, I have a blog! My own microphone!

Here's what I would have said:

"First I'd like to thank my husband for encouraging me to attend this ceremony. Between us we have one degree and 40 years of service to this institution, and it's been a huge part of our life together. But I'm also deeply grateful to the people who are here today, and to those who have moved on but were here during my time at Small College, who have been creative with me, and laughed with me, and supported me, and given me a chance to do what I believe I was called to do. Most of all, I want to thank all those who have been kind to me and have shown themselves to be brave and compassionate because Small College, like Soylent Green, is people."

The day I carried the final box out of my office across the street and set up my work computer at home, I added a screen saver that said "Give It a Year." I knew that most big transitions, whether positive or negative, take some time to shake out and that I shouldn't judge my altered life until I'd walked in the new shoes for a while. For some reason, though, the computer was glitchy and the screen saver never kicked on. No amount of re-setting settings or fiddling with toggles prompted it to play, and eventually I forgot that I had added this reminder.

Last week, in an eerie coincidence, the screen saver sprang to life. By then I'd given my new reality a year--three, in fact--and had pretty much worked through the blisters and calluses. I had told a friend in equal parts delight and relief that I am loving everything I do now, and so grateful for the life I'm living.

It's time for a new screen saver.