Two Weeks Notice

Dear Here and Now,

            I am writing this to regretfully inform you that I am putting in my two weeks notice. Let me be clear that this decision was not made out of malice or disrespect, and I hope to continue our relationship with a mutual understanding that these things happen in order to foster the potential for growth on both sides. You provided me with a path to do with what I saw fit. It was an opportunity to exercise some autonomy. It goes without saying that I owe much to your credit. For that I am grateful.

            In an effort to help you understand why I’ve made this decision, let me explain that although you have provided for me in ways intangible and not yet even apparent, I think it fair to assume that you cannot provide me with all of my wants and all of my needs (the latter being the more important of the two), nor do I expect you. Hard as I try to imagine a life where I am happy here, and content to be with the people surrounding me, the small but ever-present pulsing of doubt has developed into the gnawing suspicion ‘certainly there must be more.’

            Your indirect inquiries about my plans for the future almost always seemed out of place to me. Not because I assumed I would be staying here forever, but because I guess I never really made plans that far in advance to know what I was going to be doing and where I would be doing it. For the last long while it appears that our plans coincided with one another. Mine continues to persist as yours does, but our plans will be taking us in different directions for some time. It was, and is, my utmost pleasure to be able to spend this time with you while it lasts.

            As for the change, I can only say that it satisfies my immediate needs. I have no intention of making it permanent. However, I’m anticipating that this change will supplement my incredible breadth of knowledge and experiences I’ve been endowed with by you. I can only hope any and every change that may happen to me at some point in the future fulfills this anticipation, but I can never know until I’ve tried. Even as I write this, my fingertips rattle with the anxiety of the situation. Yet I’m comforted in being reminded that such dilemmas build character. Perhaps that is what I seek.

            I will continue to be present, as much as I can, both physically and mentally. I will continue to produce the same type of work you have come to expect of me until my leave. However, I should not be expected to provide, or train, a substitute. The effort would be counterproductive for both of us. How does one recreate their self? Doubtless my recreation would only serve to stave off the inevitable frustration that my replacement is not, in fact, me. This is not to say that I’m irreplaceable. There are people far better equipped than I that produce more important work. All I will say is that I burrowed out a particular niche for us, which made this thing work.  I’m doubtful you can find someone willing to fill the role, regardless if they fit it.

            Change is good. It is potential incarnate. If anything, take my leave as a sign to continue forward.  Too much is lost in nostalgia and hindsight, and if you’re dwelling on those sentiments you are contributing to the withering of decay. Continue on your path as I have chosen to do with mine. Perhaps we will meet again.

My Sincerest Regards,

Ian Friedman