Methods

Mine's simple.  We take a lot of photos and I carry a camera with me in the car.  When I'm in a certain mood and see something I appreciate visually, I stop and snap it.  In the morning, when the paper is done, I pull up a photo and write something along with it.  Sometimes the writing relates to the photo, sometimes the connection is tenuous at best.

I'm thinking a lot about transition because I'm leaving a career with a large human service agency and joining (gasp) the Federal Government. ( And, for some other reasons, too.  This was the year my ex-wife died and the year one of my oldest friends died.)  

This hiring process involves an enormous number of forms and I need to take a WHOLE DAY and get these done.  I have to remember to ask Harvey in Security to remember to send me two sets of fingerprint cards, so I can go down to the Cedar Rapids cop shop and get my pinkies listed in the Giant Federal Database of Information About Citizens.  Part of the global liberal conspiracy you've been hearing about.  I also have a large number of tasks to complete that are not complete, and no one really knows for sure who will succeed me, so I have no one to transition to.

I think this means that I was pretty useful to this agency and that they really hadn't thought about what would happen if I left.  This didn't stop them from letting me go, though.

The most difficult thing is ending therapy with folks with whom I am not finished.  This always feels a little like betrayal (a thought I work not to have, since it implies "rescue" and dependency).

The next job sounds eminently doable.  I went to Vinton and met the director and we talked for a while.  She seems very upbeat and energetic.  She is also not my boss.  We're not sure who my boss will actually be, and he or she may not actually have started yet.   But what the Hell, I'll be on employee probation for two years.  This gives me plenty of time to locate a boss.  My office will be in the basement of one of the dormitories occupied by Americore/NCCC  "members."  These are the 18-24 year olds who serve.  Sounds like my job will be part resident assistant, part counselor, part trainer, and I'll have involvement in disciplinary issues related to members.  Okay. 

I sat in my office yesterday looking at all the things that must be done in order for me to go.   It was hard to pick something.  I dug in and worked on paperwork until the next client came.  I told them I was leaving and tried to work with them on what we think we learned in therapy.  This family is divorced and the parents are so stuck in their anger that they get lost in recrimination while their son struggles with anger and flounders between them.  I reminded them again that the war between them is optional and that their son is not.  I genuinely like this family, as I do with most that I see, and am sorry they are so stuck.  It's time for a new set of eyes here.  These folks will not make it to the hourly caseload on Saturdays.

[Moments of reflection interrupted by the need to haul Caitlin and two friends to student council.  I thought the friends' deadbeat parents were dropping them off, but this was not the case.  Walker, who took four calls to get out of bed, fell asleep on the sofa and then got to the shower where he went into a state of suspended animation, awaking only to yell "SHIT!  Will you take me to school?!!!" when I told him what time it was.  I yelled "NO!" as I headed out the door.  The bus arrives at the end of our suburban driveway, for God's sake.  How cool that I can inspire the children before they head out on their happy days!]

I arrive home to find that a miracle has passed and Walker dried, dressed, and got on the bus.

I know it will all be done.  I know what I filled was a role and that now others will endeavor to fill that role.  They will create their own roles, and the large organization of which I was a part will lumber on, slouching toward Bethlehem to be born.

This must be the week for Yeats.