I’ve been writing a lot of goodbye letters lately
I like goodbye letters because it’s an avenue to put everything you’ve been holding onto, on the table for the world to see. There’s nothing more to hold back because you’re flying away, driving away, going away. It doesn’t mean to burn your bridges, and on the contrary, it’s the opportunity to tell people that they mean something (or nothing) to you. It’s a moment to pause and reflect on what’s happened from Point A to Point B, and I don’t think we do that enough. It’s a way to remember how far we’ve come, and how far we still have to go.
I’m coming on three years in my job… three years out of college. I’ve been thinking about what it would mean and what it’d be like to say goodbye to the city and job where I’ve experienced personal growth into true adulthood.
I filed all the farewell emails I’ve gotten in my inbox as a reminder of the people who left and of the many people who will leave eventually. After three years, the folder is more full than I thought it would be.
They all read as if goodbyes are easy with several common themes: “keep in touch”, LinkedIn handle, cell phone number, personal email address, “thank you all for helping me grow.” I’m judgmental when I say they all read generically the same.
My belief is that people who will reach out already have my contact info. Staying in touch in today’s time is the equivalent of staring at LinkedIn job updates without saying anything. Staying in touch in today’s time is liking people’s Instagram posts without commenting. Staying in touch rarely means phone conversations.
It’s a little cliche to thank people for helping you grow because of course they did. You started off with zero knowledge of the business and now you know something. For many, it was their first jobs, so naturally, they came of age professionally.
Really I don’t know if I’d say anything different though. Ironically enough, I’ll probably write the same old generic thing as to not ruffle any feathers on the way out. Maybe that’s why those goodbye letters read so easily because they’re cookie cutter thoughts.
I think about who I would address my goodbye email to. Do I send out multiple versions? A different one to each of the subgroups of my coworkers? Friends? Strictly coworkers? Higher ups? Goodbye letters deserve to be more personal than just a hundred person mass email blast to people that you said hi to just once.
At the end of it, I just want to think that I may have had an impact on someone, or that maybe, after all, these people really did care about me.
Rarely do people announce anything on Facebook anymore. It comes in the form of Instagram, in a mix of long paragraphs or short and sweet ones, usually addressed to no one in particular. Some people keep it ambiguous by not saying exactly what their next plans are or where they’ll be.
Long paragraphs seem like my vibe because there’s so much to say when you look back. All the people you met and all the good times you’ve had. Maybe even the people who have hurt you. The struggles of figuring out where to live and making those adulting mistakes. But really ready to do it all over again, only in a strange new place.
Or keeping it short and just saying “it’s been real.” That says enough.
Saying goodbye to a city is a little weird because you’re just another person to set foot in it. But your environment really shapes who you are. The city might make you a little rougher, colder, or more open. Leaving it leaves a bit of yourself carved out because there are certain memories that can’t be replicated.
I’m not sure if I’ll have a good goodbye letter or goodbye social media post. I wonder if it’s better to leave things unsaid. The people who matter will know I’m leaving, so why do I need to announce it? It’s nice having the final word though, and that’s what goodbyes are.
I think we want to walk away knowing that we mattered somewhat in the city and the job we chose to put our feet in, no matter the size of the place. Knowing that there’s a part of you that can’t be replaced, no matter how many people come and go.
Maybe I’ll write my farewell for the one day I’ll need it. Have it ready queued up and ready to go with words that I’ll try to perfectly put together but to no avail.
