It's So Hard to Say Goodbye

I'm writing this on the eve of my last day at a job I love.

I knew the job was going to end—that's how freelance is. Contracts end and people part ways. So this doesn't come as a surprise. I haven't been weepy at all (maybe that'll come tomorrow), and I'm at peace with it. But I want to take a few minutes to tell you why I loved this job.

First off—and this is very important, so listen close—I love what I do. Really love it. I read all day, and (this is the best part) correct other people's grammar. And I feel like I make a difference, if only in preserving the integrity of English typography. So for the past two years, when I woke up in the morning to head off to my job, I did it wearing a smile. I had purpose.

Second of all (and maybe this is the best part), since I've been at this job, I've met some wonderful people. Creative, nutty, funny, serious . . . I'm leaving this place with a lot of friends that I'm a better person for having in my life now. For example, when I first started, I was worried that my oddball comments and love for all things creepy would alienate me. Then we had our first Halloween. And in a corporate office, complete with cubicles and conference rooms, the four of us in the creative services department showed up looking like this:

Mind you, we were the only four in the building dressed up that day. It was clear I had found my people.
We're all freelancers, so some of us have come and gone. New people came in. Would they think those of us that remained were nuttier than pecan logs? The second Halloween proved me wrong.

Third of all—and this is really the best part—over the past two years, I've had the best. Boss. Ever. People say that, but they don't know. They don't know what it's like to work for a man who doesn't micromanage but instead trusts you to do your job well; who makes you laugh, and doesn't blink when you show up to work wearing a pendant of the mother alien from Alien with matching face-sucker earrings; who not only doesn't question when you need a Friday off for a three-day horror convention but instead looks up the guest list and asks you on Monday if you got to meet Robert Englund. Listen: I once worked for a woman who timed my bathroom breaks and actually questioned me when I took four minutes instead of three (I am not making this up. "Who did you stop to talk to? You're not allowed to talk to anyone! Refer them to me!"). The boss I have now reminded me that there are good managers out there. And really, when it comes down to it, that's what makes or breaks a job for someone, isn't it?

As I said, the life of a freelancer means eventually you have to leave. Now it's my turn, and yeah, it's hard to say goodbye to a place that I enjoyed driving to every single day. But I'm lucky. Before I started, I didn't know Catherine, Mary Ann, Elaine, Susan, Dawn, Courtney, Jackie, John, or Albert. How fortuitous for me I that I got to work with each one of them. That I was able to laugh and smile and collaborate and commiserate every single day.

So my job is ending. And yet I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.