xtcian

10/8/02 Dear Old Boss: It

10/8/02

Dear Old Boss:

It has been years since we last spoke to each other, but today I thought of you again, and again, I was reduced to mutterings of rage. We were friends once, you and I, had the same education and lay in similar beds about town. You were a close confidante, and we shared many stories and had an unconscious understanding of sentences left incomplete. When we lived across the country from one another, you offered hope, and promises of making a mark in our profession, even though to do so would be very difficult. I was more famous then, had a following, and I know I must have looked and felt a lot cooler than I actually was.

Someone in 1989 or so once said to me, "I've heard that you are an amazing person, but it wears off quickly." In that instant, I was horrified that anyone would say that to anybody, but I have since grown to appreciate the comment, as it has rescued me from complacency. I fight to live now, and stay interesting, and hope that my love and service makes a positive difference among those who meet me. I could probably say that his comment led me down a road that let me fall in love with an amazing woman.

But still I have terrible foibles: fits of despondency, anxieties over the uncontrollable, stupid bursts of profanity during basketball. And I have never made peace with you.

You brought me on as part of the team when I was at my lowest point; offered money and a chance to work so deep in the business that my head spun with delight on the first day. But almost immediately, you sided with your own bosses against me, offered nothing but admonition for my work, and used me as an easy target to further your own ambition. You told me my Big Project was worthless.

Outside of work, the humiliations added up at each party, each interaction with our higher-ups. I couldn't do anything right. Finally, I stopped coming over, understanding that I was a waste of time to you. Then I was fired in the most unceremonious way possible, scarcely allowed to get my things into a box.

Did it surprise you that I struck out on my own? Did it offend you that I had to make something work, anything? Our last interaction told me everything I needed to know, that you thought I was a ham-handed fool, that I was not to be trusted, that all that time had been wasted.

You probably read this and think the same thoughts you did back then. You probably think this is another over-emotional, uncontrolled lashing-out. You never enjoyed the best parts of me. Your mean-spiritedness and betrayal allowed me to rise to greater heights than I could have possibly imagined. You dont get any of it, you never got me, you never gave an inch, and that's why you'll never get close enough to read this letter.