I’ve drafted a goodbye note from the company I’ve worked at for many years. It’s emotional to leave after such a long time, but it feels almost impossible for me to authentically write a social media post about it. Whenever I read other goodbye notes, they all seem to sound the same, and honestly, half of them probably aren’t genuine.
The second issue is that for someone to truly connect to how I feel, they’d have to read carefully, pay real attention, and even then, if they don’t know me well, I’m not sure they’d relate.
And now, with so many people using AI, it’s even harder to tell what’s real. After several drafts, I ended up choosing something quick and dry, just the facts. Maybe even that’s too much.
Perhaps the only real way to convey how I feel is through actual human-to-human interaction.
feelings
Our kids, our world
The moment they do things you’ve never done or could have done, you look at them, amazed, a life coming from you. Such magic, such an incredible moment, yet so easy to take for granted. You created something better than yourself.
When they fail, it hurts so much, far more than when you fail. The pain can be so deep that you sometimes need to be alone, to hold it and sit with it until it moves on. You want the world to be kind to them, but the world is a tough place. You can’t know the future or guarantee anything. For yourself, that was never a big issue, but it’s a heavy feeling when you think and pray for their future.
Our kids. Our world.
A Plesunt Surprise
I used to believe I had a good sense for people’s energy—so much that I could feel it in my body. When it happened, my own energy would shift in response. Over time, though, I sensed too much negativity, and that sensitivity became a burden. Truthfully, it always was—draining me.
After so much negative energy, two things happened:
1. I began avoiding people, even new ones, assuming they would drain me too. And of course, I stayed away from those who had already done so.
2. I tried to shut this sense down, to go numb.
Both are bad outcomes.
Today, I met someone whose eyes, smile, and quiet energy filled me. It made me want to know more, to look deeper into their eyes and take in that energy. It wasn’t explosive, not something that took up all the air around us—just gently positive. So rare.
I wish that kind of positive energy surrounded us more often. I miss it. Today was such a pleasant reminder.
Stubborn
Where’s the balance between thinking independently and simply being stubborn? Reality today feels so different from twenty years ago. I find many of the changes are making things worse—frankly, almost all of them. I keep asking myself: is this just my own inability to adapt, or are these truly harmful changes? Even the way young people speak sounds strange to me. And why don’t they breathe through their noses?
Can you change my mind?
Debate, argument, exchange of ideas:
Does anyone ever really change their mind? What’s the purpose of these interactions—simply to vent? After a debate, do people feel better or worse than before? Do they come away with a deeper understanding of the other side, or with stronger dislike?
Is the problem a matter of not following the “rules” of debate? Maybe we just don’t know how to do it effectively anymore. Or perhaps we’ve changed—the information we consume and the influences shaping us have changed. Maybe people don’t change one another’s minds at all; only experiences and propaganda do.
My hope for today
Walking down the street, I look at the people around me. They don’t look the same as they did twenty years ago. They feel less familiar. More serious. More angry. It’s as if they’re sleeping less, as if their minds can’t find any quiet. Those who talk, talk louder. Some stare at endless videos on their phones, right there in public, ignoring everyone nearby. A few finish a smoke or a snack and just throw it on the ground.
And yet—sometimes, one out of many offers kindness. A smile.
I hope I meet them today. I hope they’ll still be here tomorrow.
plain notes 