It is Friday and the last day of the five-day meeting that started on Monday.
The past four days have been long stretches of work. We are here to put together the first draft of a guidance document on operational practices for objective seasonal forecasting.
At about 3 pm, we would start to wrap things up, begin to power down our laptops, and start to gather our phones, connectors, water bottles etc. to put them back in our bags. Soon after, it would be time to say byes, shake hands, and wish each other a safe and uneventful journey back to respective homes in different corners of the world.
It is Friday, and although I am glad the week is coming to an end, there is also a twinge of sadness inside me. It is not the first time that I have had this sentiment. This feeling is familiar to my heart.
It is the sadness of the endings, particularly of the endeavors with a successful outcome that were a result of long months of planning and hard work. When it all comes to an end there is a sense of relief that is mixed with a sense of sadness.
I have been organizing and working on this task for months before our face-to-face meeting — organizing the layout of the document, thinking about what chapters, and sections in them, are going to be. Once that was done, assigning lead and backup authors, and making sure that they were aware of what is expected.
After all the hard work we all have done, at the end of today there will be a tangible document in our hand. For sure, there will be months of reviewing and editing that will follow but I do know that the task I took on has come to an end.
In this ending there is a sense of pride of a job well done, of meeting the expectations that were placed in me, of rising to the occasion and steering the boat safely into the harbor.
In this ending there is a sadness of needing to say goodbyes to coworkers. For the last few days, a small group of us huddled together at this particular point in space. Soon that group would start to disperse, and we would go our own ways to our little universes.
The space-time diagram after 3 pm would show eight different trajectories diverging. Some of these trajectories may never cross again. It is a possibility that we may not be cognizant of the fact now but may become aware afterwards when we look back and remember that oh yes, it was that afternoon in Geneva that I saw Arun the very last time. I wonder what he is up to these days.
In this ending there is a sadness that carries a hint of serenity that although I do not know what is next, at this moment all is well. Right now, there is no tear in the fabric of space and time and the future holds promises for further blessings.
And perhaps, in this ending there is a subtle premonition that just like this, life itself would be ending one day. Somewhere inside there is a softness of realization that not too distant in time my show would be over. Slowly as time marches on and that realization gets more acute, I need to start gathering my belongings or start emptying my bags, say our last goodbyes, and be ready to board the very last train.
I know the feeling of this sadness would only be temporary and would not last more than an hour. After I leave this building and head back to the hotel, soon after I would start thinking about the one last walk around Lake Geneva then come back to the room and start packing. In between I also need to decide on a place for dinner.
Soon, life and the present, as always does, will take over.
Even though the feeling would not last, but in the present, its sadness holds a sweet promise of some vague eternity that could be mine. The same promise of vague eternity that lazy summer afternoons when everything around is quiet and occasional and occasional winds feel cool against the skin, sometimes hold.
Or another vivid image that comes to mind is a big hall after a night of a big event (perhaps a political convention, or a marriage celebration), and in the quietness of morning the floor is littered with confetti or petals of roses. Months of preparation and hard work are now over. Soon cleaning crews would be here, and for me it would be time to move on.
Or it could be just the image of Clint Eastwood riding into the sunset but not quite knowing where to.
I wonder what others around me are feeling. Do they even have a trace of feelings that are inside me? Or they just can’t wait for the meeting to end and get out of the room and be on their way while thinking about the need to look for presents to carry back home.
Do they wonder if our trajectories would intersect again, or this was it?
Ciao.
No comments:
Post a Comment