The more bases I am stationed at, the more plaques and framed tributes I amass on my office walls. It makes me feel all warm and tingly inside to be surrounded by the memoirs of my history in the Air Force. Feeling especially worn today by the seemingly monumental task of taking the next few months to pass the torch of my duties in preparation for moving on to yet another assignment, I stopped on my way out of my office to read the things that were written on my going away gift from the previous base. “Thanks for all your hard work”, “You will be missed”, “Keep in touch” are written by various hands around the picture in the center. Those were heartwarming, but the best messages were “You presently sing off key, so work on that at your next base”, “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know how to properly peel a banana”, and “I will miss you the most out of everyone–don’t even test me”. There was one sentiment that the person didn’t even sign their name to, so I don’t even know who wished me “much luck in the faraway land of Turkey”.
I starred up at that frame until I had read every message. Oddly enough, it made me a little nostalgic about my current location. People come and go. The landscape completely changes every couple of months and work goes on. Work just. Goes. On.
It’s not about the work anyway. It’s about the people. It’s about that guy who talks to inanimate objects like he is going to convince them to do something. It’s about that lady who always seems to want to ask you a question right when you are in the middle of something. How about that girl with the squeaky boot that provides the signature announcement of her arrival? Or how about that guy who goes way overboard with the holiday decorations in the office?
As I finally turned off the light and left my office, I felt a bit more relaxed and less weighed down. In a few months, I’m going to acquire another going away gift. People here will ink their goodbyes on it and I will display it in my new office. In a few years, when I stop to read what was written on it, I won’t remember all of the work I did. I will remember the people, and I will feel amazing.
