As I slowly say goodbye to my work mates, they have expressed sadness to see me go, and I think, for the most part, it is genuine. I like to think I’m a decent person to work with, especially in comparison with some of the difficult types I’ve come across.
I told an unmarried female neighbor last night about my plans to leave and she, who is determined to stay on, spoke to me of her years-long spell of unemployment and how it has eaten through her entire life savings. I’m relieved that through a combination of practicality, modest living, and a small measure of luck I’ve saved a nice nest egg that should see me through my transition.
Reflecting on these things– my skill and diplomacy as an employee and my modest amount of financial savvy– as well as my loyalty and dependability as a friend, I can’t help but feel that when it comes to romance, I have somehow “fallen through the cracks.” That I have the raw material to be a good partner but no real way to advertise it and perhaps no market for it.