Nothing tells you how utterly unimportant you are more than leaving a job or a social medium. Suddenly, you realize that when you die there will be nothing remotely like the JFK cortege to Arlington for you.
When I retired as an editor and publisher of a specialized publication three years ago, I wrote a farewell letter from the publisher. I was selling to an employee.
Number of calls, letter, and emails I got after 33 years? 0, zip, nada. I might as well have never existed in that admittedly obscure little world.
At least, less than a week before cancelling (being hounded out and gaslighted by a well-known social media outlet) I have received two emails. Also, quality beats quantity, no?
Still, the world has not come to a halt without me at the helm of my former publication or me at the SMO.
Sigh!
3 comments:
Maybe that shows how unimportant we are. Maybe it's an indication of how self-absorbed we are. Still, when the big goodbye comes we'll mourn you and fête you and toast you. But you won't even know.
That's one of the things about retirement. You wonder if anyone other than family will really notice you are gone!
But it is also a reminder to ourselves to say something to others about how we appreciate their work. I remember years ago insisting my shy son call his High school physics teacher when he was in college. My son was majoring in physics and I thought his teacher (a rather dull sort) would want to know. When I told his wife why we were calling, she was very excited. He was very pleased to hear from my son. Although this man's instruction had not been why my son went into the subject, at least he had contributed. Small words can make a big difference.
How true!
Your reflection reminded me of my old friend Oscar M., who died a few years ago, alone, forgotten, in a dingy Brooklyn apartment. He was found by firemen after a neighbor reported a foul odor in the complex.
It was a completely ignored event. The world went on as if he never existed.
By contrast, I am still saddened by the passing about the same time as Oscar, of a friend I made while traveling thorough Portugal. I saw him personally only once, but he left me a profound impression kept with frequent correspondence.
The whole Setubal, the city where I met him, seems to have been touched by his kind generosity and wisdom.
It occurs to me, that there may be a direct relationship between the importance we give and the importance we receive.
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