Yoga class, late sun in the window, glowing onto my face. I’m at work, of all places, in a bright conference room with chairs pushed to the walls. The instructor’s voice is quieting now. Lying back in Savasana pose, a screen of sunlight across my lower eyelashes is more blinding than enlightening. Squinting, I see the Sycamore trunk outside is dappled with patches of color like an oil painter’s melancholy palette.
It’s an ending, he is saying, every new beginning is. Yoga is the balance of opposites, and there is no moment like this one. As this practice ends, the rest of the evening begins, he says, and think about how you will live it.
To me, it’s bigger than an evening. I’ve been told I have just three months left here, to move on. There’s been a restructuring, they said, and your team is the one to go. And work is fine, work is work, but it’s been more than that. Ten years of growth: agile teams and brilliant teammates, pushing myself to learn and lead, thriving in the joy of solving complex challenges. Traveling to cultures afar and surrounded by internationals here, I’ve had the delight of watching World Cup soccer next to others cheering on their native country.
And this campus has been a second home, with its endless coffee, happy hours and gym. On weekends, when home is full but the office empty, I could escape to the sunlit table by this window to write. And this yoga class. It’s one dot of many, but like a pointillism, when I back up it forms a ten-year image of satisfying work, growth, sustenance and pride. It’s been a great place, and I’m thankful for it.
As this practice ends, so does the decade. The common internet was only a decade old back then, as we built simple software and watched it mature. The world upgraded its string-cup conversations into video conferences, much of it using our code.
Maybe I thought it would go on forever, but it hasn’t. Anyway, those years have already passed, whether I stay here or remember them from elsewhere.
It’s one dot of many, but like a pointillism, when I back up it forms a ten-year image of satisfying work, growth, sustenance and pride.
Starting over will invigorate, but also be tiring. I’ll have to prove myself in every way at a new company — no one will know the laurels I rest on until I’ve built them again. What I had here was trust. Relationships forged through releases and emergencies of the software-bug type. Travel dinners, off-sites, and hokey icebreakers kicked off friendships — many that broke over into personal life.
I’ll find something else, somewhere else, and start again. I’ll see a different way of working, get behind a different vision and start repeating different company brag points.
All that is the beginning I don’t yet know; for now, it is the leaving.
Every ending is a beginning, the instructor says, and for this moment it’s true. For my larger moment I’ve only feared the distance between this job and the next — an unknown journey’s length.
But the day does not instantly become night when the sun sinks to orange. The day dies (and is born) inside a time of transition — dusk or dawn. This in itself is an extraordinary time, uniquely lived. And even as this transition starts, it too will have an end, when the distance closes.
Be present in it.
For all its unknowns, enjoy its freedom.
The Savasana ends and hands raise to heart. Another dot is drawn, another point in time behind me now. The sun is gone and the dusk begins. The Sycamore’s trunk is a shadow now, but the tree stands there just the same, ready for the next transition.