As my leaves turn grey,
I’m called less to raise my hand.
I used to matter.
A couple of years ago, I was in a bad job situation, though I didn’t know it at the time. Important assignments and tasks seemed to pass me by, and I believed at the time I’d reached “that” stage of my career where, as an office elder, I’d aged myself out of my job. I’d seen it happen before where “that” generation wasn’t nearly as important as the “kids” in the office.
Fast forward to now and I see it wasn’t all me. The supervisor and cronies managed through cliques. You were either “in” or “out,” and those who were “in” got the opportunity to shine while those who were “out” got the message and/or got tired of being blamed, and they looked for employment elsewhere. The high employee turnover was something to behold.
You should, of course, takes my personal opinion with a grain of salt, but I feel everything here is true. I thought my workplace ineffectiveness was my fault, and maybe it was up to a point, but I was not alone in believing our lives would have been far better if the workplace worked through inclusiveness instead of mouthing the words.
I am in a much better place today and, yes, I still matter. It feels good and it feels right.
Technical notes: the “leaves” is a small salute to Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman (the above dude reminds me of Walt, and I’m working that beard). I’m having fun with the spelling of “gray” in the title and “grey” in the poem, both being equally correct. For those who split hairs (see what I did there?), it’s more correct to spell the word “gray” in America and “grey” in Europe.
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