They emailed us. Bittersweet was the word they chose.
And doesn't that tell it all? Bittersweet was the word my friend used when leaving his hometown. It was the word my parents used when selling their first house. It will be the word I use when the day comes for me to leave.
Our cherished memories are what we leave behind. And oh, how bitter nostalgia can be. We also leave behind the lives and routines that helped us grow and that so fondly filled our hearts. The trouble is that anything stagnant sours over time. That bitter taste at the end is what tells us to go.
The sweetness, then, is twofold. I find it funny how celebratory we are when a team member leaves. It reminds me of a prisoner completing their sentence. “You're free,” we cheer in applause, wrapping the bars of our cells. If leaving a more perfect place, we might be more surprised, and not so habitually happy for those who “escape.” For this we assume the first sweetness, that you are headed towards a new horizon that will respect your talents and time more than this stepping stone.
However, I am also sending you a note to honor the second sweetness, which is every original sweetness you created in this role when this job was still sweet. For this job is sweet, I can only imagine the amount of content, studio time, creative agency, authority, and praise you have created and received.
Think how many doctors, team members, and business owners your work has inspired and the countless thousands of patients who received those lessons in action. It was, and always will be, a team effort. But may we sit with the sound of an impact player leaving. … That silence from the void is the testimony to the irreplaceable value you created.
We will survive you, tending to the legacy you have built. We only hope the reasons why you left are for the betterment of you and not, as we surmise, are reasons that, if left unaddressed, will be the downfall of us. Bitter. Sweet.
My pleasure to have met you, and may we continue to meet. From QNTN.