I’m back in Georgia, in the midst of my fourth fall. The leaves here have all gone orange, red and rust, and I’m noticing for the first time that different regions of the country each have their own unique autumn. In Wisconsin and Chicago, where I had my first two falls, the leaves were like a just-lit fire, intense, immediate and vibrant, then gone. In Wyoming, where I caught the very end of the fall, each tree was like solitary, flickering candle, just moments from blowing out. In the South, fall is a dying fire, embers smoldering in every direction, warm, comforting and settling into sleep.
Maybe I’m just feeling sentimental; that’s always a possibility with me. But today, my Daddy’s having back surgery, so I’m even more emotional than my usual self, and people, that’s quite a feat. And here’s the weird thing: It’s days like today when I miss working in an office.
There’s something comforting about all those people knowing when you’re not at your desk, knowing that something’s happening in your life, putting you in their thoughts. I had a few lovely friends at my former agency, the kind of people who would not just remember, but make sure other people remembered, too. They’d send an email or a voicemail. They’d have a card waiting at your desk when you came back. You always knew that warm thoughts were with these people were part of your life. Those people are the only thing that could ever make me miss my cubicle, but today, I definitely do.