Change Maven Musings: Going Quietly

Real people. Real stories. Real change.

Sometimes going quietly is the most dramatic exit you can make.

It’s not easy. Or right. Or satisfying. There are so many things to say that must be left unsaid. So many wrongs that will never find a right. Uphill battles to fight, mental, emotional, and otherwise. A deep and pervasive sense of loss and grief that you can’t seem to shake, even if it comes now in fits and starts, and not the tsunamis that threatened to overtake you not so long ago. Thank God, we’re past that.

You wake up in the middle of the night, mind racing, sweaty, running through scenarios, wondering if you made the right decision or should’ve stayed. Should you have said more, done more, been less-than so you were more palatable, or said fuck-all and jumped into the ring for a cathartic cage match rather than take the proverbial and much-less-satisfying higher road. Can you go back? Do you want to go back? A resounding, hell, no. Well, there’s that, anyway.

Ultimately, who fucking knows and it doesn’t matter anyway. You made your decision, you walked away, and you kept it mostly to yourself. Why? Because telling means opening yourself up to unwanted scrutiny, advice, and the projected fears of others and how they would react in your shoes. Things that have nothing to do with you at all. What you needed - and still do - was the tender act of sitting next to you, listening, holding your hand, seeing you, believing in the fullness of you that’s emerging from the ashes, and trusting in your ability to make the unknown path known, with no playbook, no five-year plan in place (does anyone even do those anymore?).

To make this choice, to take this way, at least you know it’s coming from you. And because of that you stand behind it and speak your truth from a place of deep knowing, ardent desire, and strong belief. Your very self was forged in the fires of the solitude this decision created, in a silence so deafening at times it threatened to overtake you and fling you into the abyss of Tartarus, with no exit, no hope, very Jean-Paul Sartre. That no one suspected because the show must go on, and you know how to pull it together and make it look easy. Really, really glad to not be there anymore.

The quiet exit spoke the loudest. Gave the most space, the most grace, to process, plan, and get oriented towards growth and progress. I’m mostly sure it was the right thing to do. A little drama, though, might’ve been fun.