Going Going Gone

"So...how are you feeling?" This seems to be the question on people's lips these days.

I'm pretty sharp on a good day, so I know they're not talking about the unrelenting and hideous rash on my arm which I've had for more than a week and which itches like the sun on the beach.
I'm also pretty sure they're not asking about the two concerts that I have to sing in this weekend, one of them two and half hours away, which is okay because I'm sure they'll go fine once I find my concert clothes and learn my music and get over my rage at the business side of this season. And I'm positive they're not talking about my spiritual well-being because, well, this is Boston.

In addition to being sharp, I am the worst liar you ever met. I used to try anyway, because that sort of thing comes in handy from time to time, but it fell flat enough times for me to wise up. It's a real bummer when they find out you aren't really royalty. Or that you don't really think that new haircut is so swell, you ate the last cookie, and you are in fact going to be in town this weekend, you just don't want to be with them. Better just to tell the truth.

So I've been doing just that.

Other than having no idea where I'm going to get the money for my rent and health insurance and cable and summer camp and chocolate and utilities and clothes and food and travel and life, with the wee bit of anxiety that such a predicament occasionally produces, I am just about as close to great as I have ever been.

Because after all, there's nothin' makes you feel better than being thrown a goodbye party and thanked for your contributions. Which does seem all the more likely to happen if there is actually an acknowledgement of your resignation. And maybe even a notice that you're leaving, so people stop wondering why you seem to have grown gradually fainter around the edges so that, wonder of wonders, they just don't seem to be able to see you any more.

Whoops. There's that bitterness creeping in. Sorry. I meant to leave that at the office.

Today was my last day working for one of Fortune Magazine's Best Places to Work, an honor that makes milk come out of my nose.

You know all of those things you've always said you'd do if you had time or freedom? You know all of those great ideas that you've had that you think might even provide a comfortable income if you ever had time to do them? You know all those people who tell you it can be done? (and all those people who tell you the opposite, well, we're not talking about them). You know the feeling that "I could be great if they would let [listen to, follow] me"? I hope you do.

Deep and Relevant Lesson for the Day: There is no letting. There is only being.

Hey, it only took me thirty years to figure that out. I'm ahead of the curve.

Hand me a sparkler. It's Independence Day.