It’s always great to hear the following words on the first day of a job:
“Don’t get too comfortable. You won’t be here for long.”
Of course, my supervisor meant that in a jokey fashion when I was receiving my orientation— we’re moving offices later this month. But the transition cycle continues.
In preparation for our move, I’ve been tasked with shredding a bunch of old documents. Actually, “a bunch” doesn’t do that justice. I’ve probably sent two or three Sequoia trees to a recycling center in confetti form.
As I’m going through these old binders and file cabinets, I’m having a bit of an existential realization. I’m finding out all of these amazing projects that my organization has worked on and all of the successes my employer has had empowering and defending Jewish communities around the world.
And here I am, just tossing the proof and legacy of decades of Jewish communal services into an industrial shredder.
Sure, there are digitized archives of basically everything I can. And my throwing away scribbled memos and bound annual reports aren’t undoing the deeds. I feel removed from the legacy though, as all I seem to be doing is chucking important things into a bin. I’ve only been here a month, and I feel removed from the good-doing that this organization is famous for.
Sure, the move will happen in 15 days (sort of a reverse omer-counting for us) or so, and then I won’t be discarding originals, so much as I will be creating them. But I’m still stuck feeling like this transitory period transcends “only for now.” I went to my campus last week to pick up my graduation package, only to be told “it’s not ready yet.” That pretty much sums up where I am right now.
My diploma came in the mail last week, but I won’t have an office to hang it in for a few weeks. I’m still in this limbo, and I need to see change.
