I once worked at a place that had such high turnover that they had started waiting three months before ordering a new employee a name plate for their office. I think I've recently adopted this policy myself.
Lately I have been referring to this guy as "this guy." Actually, he noted, I've referred to him in a variety of ways on my blog.
But he has sort of kind of somewhat did I say sort of (cautious? twitchy? me?) become an actual person in my life lately. As he pointed out this morning when I added him to an Evite for a friend's party - he's moved up from +1 status to having a name. Ha.
And, barring unforeseen calamitous behaviour, will continue to be a person in my life, at least for another month, at which point he moves to NY.
Somehow, this is perfect for right now. It's easy to avoid people who are leaving. But it's also easy to get involved. Like, he's leaving so this is safe. It can be really fun and feel great, and we can be totally open and candid with the safety of a built-in end. We chatted very frankly about this the other night.
With my peripatetic upbringing, we were always leaving somewhere. You knew at the outset that you'd only know people for a year or two, four at the most. And so you attached quickly. And detached and moved on just as quickly.
I used to be great at that. I used to be so good at having a person in my life in the here and now and then walking away without looking back.
At some point I realized that the people who mattered, those people stayed in my life. No matter how much time goes by, we will always pick up where we left off. Maude, for example who I know from when I was born. She lives in England but we still see each other. Same with my high school crony Kris who lives in Paris. To name a couple very long-standing friendships.
Somewhere along the way, though, I lost that letting go without a twinge ability. I value people more, I think. I share more of myself than I used to. The ones I really let in get into my heart and my soul.
Wow - this is not where I thought I was going with this! Which is hardly a surprise to anyone.
On a side bar, a college friend and I used to write papers together sometimes. Not collaboratively, just writing side by side. She'd make an outline; she knew where she was starting and where she was ending. And I'd just sit down and write.
I was always so impressed with her ability to line it all up before she started. Because how, I wondered, how did she know where she was going before she began? How did she know how it was going to wind up before she was immersed in the middle? How how how?
And she couldn't understand how I could just write without these things. How could I even start if I didn't know the middle or the end? But it seems to be the only way I can do things. I have to see how it feels along the way.
So to end this wending post. . .I'm not sure what to call him.
I could call him The Director, which is how Betty and some of my friends have referred to him since we met working on the 48-hour film. We were driving back from wineries on Saturday and I called Betty to see if she was home so we could stop by, but she was just on her way out the door.
She said, "Oh, I'm so sorry! I would love to meet your director!"
My director. Heh. He's possibly one of the least directorial men in my life ever. As I've said before, he doesn't have an agenda. He's just plain nice. It's refreshing. I'm not sure what it says about me that I generally attract and am attracted to control freaks, but that's a bit much to delve into now.
He doesn't mind how I refer to him - I get to choose. He doesn't mind what I write, as long as it's not some kind of big weird surprise news to him. This is fair.
So I might call him The Director. I quite like it.
Oh, and for the title of the post - apologies to Shakespeare. And a nod to the Coen Brothers.