tin man

Sometimes it's just too painful to be human. As a matter of fact, I told my co-worker that I didn't want to be human for that exact reason.

"You need a costume," he said in all seriousness.

"Yeah, like a brown bag over my head!" I replied.

"No, maybe the Tin Man."

"The Tin Man? But I'll rust if I cry!" (Because that is exactly what I had just finished doing.)

"Well, then, Joe and I will have the oil cans."

I never know the exact moment when a friendship has been established, but yesterday I knew that I had a friend. Two, actually.

It has been an intensely emotional week. Fourteen people were told that they will be transferred to another division. This action certainly beats the alternative (layoffs?) It was lauded as a "talent transfer", some of our best and brightest being given the opportunity to make a difference in this one-year assignment.

As usual in our company, though, it's really not okay to talk about feeling sad, or uncertain about job security for the rest of us, or what will happen if the orders don't start coming in. It's important to keep smiling... be positive... It's all good, right? Right. Underneath the surface, past good-byes formed a swift current that finally spilled over into tears. Completely out of proportion to the trigger.

I am the Tin Man. My friends are ready with the oil can--so it's okay to be human, to feel sad, and cry.