Waiting for the bus earlier I opened my coat to the icy wind, letting the cold ground me, still me. The cold, like a tourniquet, keeping everything inside me, keeping my emotions from bleeding out. Fifteen minutes in the cold in just a thin shirt leaves me barely shivering, but oh so cold, and it makes me feel lonely. This is news to me, I did not know it, but I recognise it now: Being cold makes me feel lonely, and abandoned, and unloved. But it also acts like a physical barrier, and now the benefits are too great to consider put my coat back on, even though the joints in my hands are cramping due to extended chill.
I care too much, yet not enough. Can it ever be enough? I sometimes worry that I am playing favourites, but they are all individuals and all so amazing, even if I do click better with some than others. It is the second time I have been handed a resignation, last time about a year ago. It went better this time, at least as long as I was still sitting in the conference room. I believe I handled it professionally. Generously even. Knowing it was the last time, I let some of my usual restraint go, and I hope I did something good by it. Hope that I could give something for the future. It is the least I can do.
Fifteen minutes after the meeting ended I was cracking though, and ran out of the office without finishing my tasks (forgotten, and important - I had to call my colleague and beg her to take care of it when I realised ten minutes later). And then I was there, barely missing a bus, having to wait fifteen minutes for the next, wanting to howl. It's like losing family.
Should I care less, try to distance myself? Or is this level of care for the staff I am responsible for good? I don't know. And I could speculate forever into the reasons for my reaction.