Probably a mistake to try to blog while tipsy, but I just got home (the photo was taken at 2:44 am!) from celebrating a co-worker’s 25th anniversary at work. I had my own 2 years ago.
I had hoped that my co-worker’s anniversary party was as wonderful as mine, and since we all hung out until nearly 2 am (when the bar closed), it must have been. She certainly was happy, and that’s the main thing.
It’s weird to watch the years suddenly go by. The inevitable happens. The impossible date arrives and, although expected, still catches you off-guard.
At the party, I was talking to a recent hire, a man about my age who started in our company about 18 months ago, and I felt a bit strange being one of the old-timers. I don’t feel old. I don’t feel like 27+ years have passed. Certainly, they don’t weigh on me. It’s bizarre, really, to think that at this point, I have fewer years left to retirement than the years I have worked. I have no idea how or when that happened. Who swapped the young woman I still feel like for the middle-aged woman I actually am?
I’ll bet my co-worker is thinking the same thing. I’ll bet she’s trying to work out the weird convolutions of time, wondering how something so linear could be so unpredictable, as she basks in the love and appreciation that her co-workers dished out.
I’ll give Time that: It does give some kick-ass memories.