Last year I got into a pretty sticky situation. Without giving too many details, I was told there was a problem and I was responsible for handling it. I thought it over, made a decision and took action. Then I left for the day and when I got home was greeted by the biggest blow-up I've ever been at the center of on the internet or in real life. I didn't think it was a big problem and I didn't think I was taking a firm or controversial stand, but the response I got seemed otherwise. I didn't sleep that night, afraid that I had acted incorrectly and brought negative attention to people I cared about and might even bring further discipline on them. So, the next morning, a Saturday, I got up before the sun was even up, drove to work, typed up my letter of resignation, and cleaned out my desk. If anyone was going to face punishment for my decision, it was going to be me and I had no intention of sticking around for a grueling two hours of gathering my things afterwards.
I sat in the chair I had scrounged out of the warehouse when I'd gotten this job, looked around my now bare office, that previous to my moving in was a large storage closet, and reminisced about the work I had done and what I worked to create and build. It's natural in moments like this to resort to the "sour grapes" defense and focus on all the bad things about the job or situation or person so that letting go becomes easier, but I couldn't. The fact was that although there had been some bad things happen at my job, I overwhelmingly loved my work, my coworkers and the people I served, even the ones who were now so angry at me and calling for my head on a plate. It was all so upsetting, so discouraging, and worst of all there was nothing I could do or would even find out about it all until Monday. I loaded my two boxes, left my resignation letter unsigned and facedown on my desk, ready for use if necessary, and locked up. Once in my car, I sat in the parking lot for several minutes unsure of where to go. My chest felt so tight I was struggling to breathe and I just needed a minute outside of all this to regroup. Rather than going home to pace the floors all weekend and worry and wait, I decided to take the long way home.
As it turned out, I took the extremely long way home and drive down all the back roads of the places I remember from being a little girl growing up here. As I drove I felt my problem feeling farther away; I could feel my chest relax and mental peace and clarity return. I needed this, I needed to be in place apart from my situation so I could see it clearly. After half an hour or so, I found myself at a place where all earthly troubles cease, a little country cemetary that was very much secluded and seemed all but forgotten. I parked and pushed open the rusty wrought iron gate. It was so far off the beaten path that no traffic buzzed by and I could hear the birds and the wind rustling the shade trees.
Two huge stones had been stacked to create a makeshift bench among the tombs of those who had lived and died over a century ago. I always knew this place was here, but I had no memory of ever visiting. "Why would I?" I thought. "These graves are so old there probably isn't anyone alive today who even knew these people." Then as I sat admiring the absolute serenity of the place, I saw a newer stone. I crossed to its place and read the name. It belonged to a cousin of mine who had passed nearly 20 years ago. I remember him quite well as a kind man who made bad choices that led to an early demise. I remember because as he lay in his hospital bed, dying, he remarked that one day he was really going to get his life right. He didn't know that he didn't even have one more day left of this life. He became part of the fuel that drove me to make each day count and never fall victim to the "one day" fantasy.
I knelt beside this spot for a while longer before returning to my bench and sitting so still for so long that all manner of little wild creatures came out from their hiding places to eat and soak up the rays of morning sunshine on this beautiful mild spring day. .....My problem....well, really just the one problem....was it really that bad? It wasn't really, I decided after what seemed like a blessed brief lifetime in that place apart. Did this little reprieve fix all my problems or make me stop worrying completely? No, of course not. But, I did feel better about the whole thing. I went home and went about my weekend, ready to face whatever Monday brought.
When I went in to work on Monday, I prepared to apologize to the staff and face the consequences at our morning meeting. Instead I was met by people who were just as surprised and disappointed by the ugliness and overreaction as I was and who in turn rallied around me in unanimous support. I don't think I've ever had unanimous support at anything I've done, but not only did I have their support, I had their appreciation as they felt that what I had done was not only to take a stand but to stand up for them as well. My bosses in turn felt that the whole thing was a non-issue and haven't brought it up since.
To quote Jane Austen, "It could have all turned out differently, I suppose, but, it didn't." I am thankful that things ended well and that I was able to keep doing my work and saw for the first time who my real friends and allies were and who were only using me, but that isn't really the point of this post. The point is that sometimes our problems are so encompassing, so pressing, so demanding that we can't see any way out of them. At times like this, it is best to remember that there is in fact a great big world out there with a long, long, history and that our problems, like those who have gone before us, usually are so bad afterall, or at the very least, they won't last forever, and sometimes the only way to get some fresh perspective on it all is to find a space apart.
