Transition
Things are moving on in a way I'd never have expected
In typical fashion, I’ve not felt the need to put fingers to keyboard since I was in America many months ago. This was largely for want of things to say. I’m still not sure there’s anything I actually want to say.
I have a new job. The details are not important, but I’m excited to get going with it, if only to be over with the now three-month period of interminable waiting for things to happen. I’m worried, as always, that the competence with which I am apparently blessed is just in comparison to those around me with much less experience. I worry that I’m going to move, discover that I am in fact useless, and find I should never have left the job which has seen me through the last two years.
This has been somewhat compounded by a somewhat sudden addition to the list of people I care about. A danger1 of being physically present in the workplace is that I cannot help but try to help those I hear about to make an avoidable mistake. This has led to a full week of welcome distraction from the pointless task I’ve been working on for months, and also getting to know someone I might never have got to know except for this chance occurrence. It feels unfathomable to me now.
For most people meeting someone you get on well with is a good thing, or at least that’s how I imagine it to be. I don’t tend to view it that way, mostly from previous emotional wounds which remain open from badly handled interactions in the past. The speed with which it has gone from awkward small-talk while working to a drink at the end of a long week talking some of our deepest trauma is, quite frankly, alarming. The house is on fire, and though the warmth is nice, it is difficult to not be consumed by it. It has been nice to have someone to talk to though, though I worry that I have met this with being on ‘transmit’.
I’m fairly certain in this instance the equilibrium is somewhere around “friends”, unless my typically excellent2 powers of reading a situation prove on this occasion to be fallible. After the end of the week, I may lose it to feeling inadequate and the equilibrium will be under ‘never again’. Life moves on, and I’m ready for it to do so, but timing has made the transition more fraught than expected.
Qué será, será
Whatever will be, will be
The future’s not ours to see
Qué será, será
What will be, will be‘Que sera sera’ by Jay Livingston and Ray Evans