Hi All,
I have been so consumed with the recent death of my Dad that I have not even had time to mention my amazing new job. I am working at a DV Shelter. It is an amazing job, filled with amazing women and kids, and possibly more amazing colleagues. I do not think it was an accident that just when I need them the most I would be surrounded by survivors. Truth be told I didnt need my job to find survivors because I live with one and, in many ways, am surrounded in my life by survivors of all sort of things, all of the time. This past week at work I had the opportunity, blessing, good fortune to be asked to help wrap Holiday presents for some of the residents, the night before I attended the Holiday party for both former and current residents. That night and the next day something happened to me. I felt around me the genuine selflessness that to me is sort of what Christmas is about.
For those maybe 12 hours I forgot myself. I forgot my own pain, my own loss, my own story. For that time I was both in other peoples stories and also a silent observer of their stories. I felt somehow transformed leaving work that day. I felt something had happened to me. That I had had this experience of waking up in a new job, with a new life, and with the very real understanding that I am not, nor have I ever been, alone and that this pain that I feel, this understanding that I now have of the fragility of life, this knowledge that I have now is something precious. It is not a bitter knowledge. It is a gentle nod.
I nod to the survivors all around me who know what it means to pick themselves up and begin again. I will happily share my time with these women for as long as it seems to be helping them. I will know deep down in my soul that there is some divine order to how things have unfold and how I have ended up here, now.
I think often lately of what my life is all about. I think about what I want it to be about. I think about my Dad and what his life was about too. I think of his quick humor or his thoughtful cards or his ever present phone calls. I think about how at the top of my own salary scale in my late twenties I was showing him my $400 wallet. I thought he'd be so impressed. He then asked me when I was going to get a new watch to go with it? He asked me when it would end--this quest for the best stuff? He was smiling, but I felt silly. I didnt know what to say. I knew right then that he was right. Deep down I knew that my Dad understood something fundamental about values. About what was important and what was not. It was less than a year later when I left NYC, black pant suits, and the advertising industry. I think I made my Dad proud when I did this. I think he knew that I had heard him. xxK
I have been so consumed with the recent death of my Dad that I have not even had time to mention my amazing new job. I am working at a DV Shelter. It is an amazing job, filled with amazing women and kids, and possibly more amazing colleagues. I do not think it was an accident that just when I need them the most I would be surrounded by survivors. Truth be told I didnt need my job to find survivors because I live with one and, in many ways, am surrounded in my life by survivors of all sort of things, all of the time. This past week at work I had the opportunity, blessing, good fortune to be asked to help wrap Holiday presents for some of the residents, the night before I attended the Holiday party for both former and current residents. That night and the next day something happened to me. I felt around me the genuine selflessness that to me is sort of what Christmas is about.
For those maybe 12 hours I forgot myself. I forgot my own pain, my own loss, my own story. For that time I was both in other peoples stories and also a silent observer of their stories. I felt somehow transformed leaving work that day. I felt something had happened to me. That I had had this experience of waking up in a new job, with a new life, and with the very real understanding that I am not, nor have I ever been, alone and that this pain that I feel, this understanding that I now have of the fragility of life, this knowledge that I have now is something precious. It is not a bitter knowledge. It is a gentle nod.
I nod to the survivors all around me who know what it means to pick themselves up and begin again. I will happily share my time with these women for as long as it seems to be helping them. I will know deep down in my soul that there is some divine order to how things have unfold and how I have ended up here, now.
I think often lately of what my life is all about. I think about what I want it to be about. I think about my Dad and what his life was about too. I think of his quick humor or his thoughtful cards or his ever present phone calls. I think about how at the top of my own salary scale in my late twenties I was showing him my $400 wallet. I thought he'd be so impressed. He then asked me when I was going to get a new watch to go with it? He asked me when it would end--this quest for the best stuff? He was smiling, but I felt silly. I didnt know what to say. I knew right then that he was right. Deep down I knew that my Dad understood something fundamental about values. About what was important and what was not. It was less than a year later when I left NYC, black pant suits, and the advertising industry. I think I made my Dad proud when I did this. I think he knew that I had heard him. xxK
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