Reorganization

The studio reorganized two weeks ago. I've started this post four times since, and I'm going to keep this one short, because the long versions were all about me, and it isn't about me.

Some of my friends were let go. Good people, people who taught me things, people who have been there longer than I have. I won't say who, or how many, or how it was done. It isn't my story to tell, and some of them read this. I'll only say that they found out on a Tuesday morning, and most of them were packed by lunch, and that's a very short time to fit years into a cardboard box.

I kept my job. So did my whole team, nearly, and I don't know why, and nobody is going to tell me. I've been in meetings all week about what the new structure means for the work, and I've nodded, and taken notes, and thought about a desk across the floor that's empty now, with a ring on it from a mug that sat in the same place for six years.

The feeling I have is guilt, and I know it's the wrong feeling, because I didn't choose anything. People keep telling me that, kindly, and they're right. It doesn't help. It's the guilt of walking out of a building that's fallen down and finding you're not hurt. You look around for someone to apologize to.

What I've been doing instead of apologizing is writing letters. By hand, to the people who left, to their home addresses, which I had because we've sent each other cards. Nothing useful. Not "let me know if I can help," because everyone says that and nobody knows what it means. Just a page about what they were like to work beside. Something they could keep, if they wanted.

Three have written back already. One said the letter was the only thing anyone gave her that week that didn't come with a form to sign.

I'm going back in on Tuesday. The desk will still be empty.