Lunch with Friends
The first week I started at my job, everyone in the department went out to lunch.
Almost exactly seventeen months later, here we are again. Same restaurant, same table, same people. Most of us even order the same meal.
But 17 months ago, the purpose of the outing was to say "hello" and to begin getting to know each other, and now it is to say good-bye. I'm not saying good-bye. They are.
Writing letters, that is what we do, and this week there were three letters of resignation written. It is just one of those things, when it becomes time to move on to another stage of life. But how come their new stages of life all arrived at the same time?
I have seen a great deal of good-byes in my time. I know the hollow sound of the "Call me" and the "Keep in Touch!" that never rings true, and as I hear their plans of moving cross-country or settling down with Baby, I wonder if these words will again be spoken for the comfort of the moment or if, maybe, our years of discipline in writing letters will pay off.
Gloomily, I think it doubtful, as I remember all of the dear friends I have not written or called recently.
And then gloomier still, I realize that the friends hugging me good-bye don't even have a blog.
Almost exactly seventeen months later, here we are again. Same restaurant, same table, same people. Most of us even order the same meal.
But 17 months ago, the purpose of the outing was to say "hello" and to begin getting to know each other, and now it is to say good-bye. I'm not saying good-bye. They are.
Writing letters, that is what we do, and this week there were three letters of resignation written. It is just one of those things, when it becomes time to move on to another stage of life. But how come their new stages of life all arrived at the same time?
I have seen a great deal of good-byes in my time. I know the hollow sound of the "Call me" and the "Keep in Touch!" that never rings true, and as I hear their plans of moving cross-country or settling down with Baby, I wonder if these words will again be spoken for the comfort of the moment or if, maybe, our years of discipline in writing letters will pay off.
Gloomily, I think it doubtful, as I remember all of the dear friends I have not written or called recently.
And then gloomier still, I realize that the friends hugging me good-bye don't even have a blog.
Comments