Uniting the Two Halves

Every Christmas my friends from the library and I go out to dinner to celebrate the holidays, and just this past week we did so for the 17th time! Only I and two others have attended all of them. We have a pretty stable crew, but often family responsibilities and other commitments intervene. A person may miss two in a row and then show up, so we never count anyone out!

As we sat around the table, laughing and reminiscing, I was struck by a small irony. I worked at the library for seven years, quit, and then returned. My second tour has lasted nearly a decade. At the gathering, I was seated in the middle of a large circular table, and on either side of me were the friends from each tenure.

To my left, was my past: the guys who helped form me, who made me laugh hysterically, who made me jealous and brought me into a larger world. Those first seven years were like the big bang for me. Life exploded (in a good way). There were girlfriends and parties, and so much hilarity.

Working with these guys made me feel like I was hanging with the cool kids (even though I never would be one). I never quite crossed over into their lifestyle, remaining on the fringes of it. Still, it was an unforgettable experience that transcended everything that had gone before.

To my right, was my present: the crew whose delicate balance I probably upset when I returned, a group of folks I never thought I would be close to. Unlike the first crew, the dichotomy of personalities represented here, along with the presence of (gasp!) a chick, made for a much more volatile experience, though no less meaningful than the first.

To these people I act the role of the older, wiser mentor (whether they like it or not). I sit on my soapbox, and spout my philosophy of life, while they roll their eyes at the notion I have any influence over them whatsoever. They probably believe I love the sound of my own voice (which, I do). While I am a blowhard, I do sincerely try to help them on their way, as the guys did for me way back when.

Connecting both experiences is a fellow “lifer,” who never left, and who has two decades of unbroken time at the library. A presence since Day One, he provides not only a sense of continuity and recollection for me, but he is a reassuring nod to my past, as we have observed each other’s lives through the lens of this job, and can still tolerate each other after 20 years.

So I sat there desperately trying to engage both halves of my life, while not neglecting either – although if I focused more on the old guys, it’s because I never get to see them.

I regret leaving the library and missing four years of camaraderie, but having the two distinct experiences has left me with an interesting perspective, and an embarrassment of riches in terms of the friendships I have made. Had I stayed the entire time, things would likely be drastically different. In some ways, I feel like the child of one generation and the parent to another, and honored to be part of both.