You're...

Dear person,

It’s not good news. But it’s not bad news either. Honestly, I’m in no position to editorialize. I’m in a much higher and more secure position than you, of course, but that still doesn’t give me the kind of latitude drunken cartographers dream about. So let’s just agree that it’s news. Still, you’re probably wondering what this is all about. Please allow me to kick things off with an anecdote (as if you have any choice in the matter). You could delete this note right now, but that wouldn’t change reality, now would it?

Career transitions are a tricky business. But there are success stories of people shifting their lives in profound ways, pulling the e-brake while going 80 mph in the left lane. While it’s rarely planned for, there are maneuvers to survive it. Having a roll bar helps. Wearing your seatbelt does, too. Knowing a cop never hurt anyone.

Ever heard of Albert Lamorisse? Don’t answer. In 1956, he directed The Red Balloon to international acclaim. Many filmmakers would’ve rested on their laurels, never questioning what laurels are exactly, pumping out sequel after sequel. He could’ve done that. There are enough colors in the rainbow to sustain a lifetime of making movies about balloons. The Yellow Balloon. The Blue Balloon. One day he’d be compelled to make a final meditation on life and death, The Black Balloon. But not before exhausting the full spectrum. Al didn’t do that though. Instead, he invented the game Risk a year later. Understand?

You’re being released. Think of it positively. Like an exotic bird caged within a palatial apartment, now you’re free to fly. Beware of mirrors and double-pane glass.

You’re not losing your job. Since you still know where to find it.

You’ve been relieved of your duties. Which, I might add, feels good between remote rest stops.

You’ve been dismissed. That's something that felt great in elementary school, didn't it?

You’re redundant. You’re redundant. Looks like I’m redundant in a feeble attempt at insincere solidarity. Looks like I’m redundant in a feeble attempt at insincere solidarity.

Being canned is a good thing. Think of all those poor people who never got to experience the aural pleasure from cracking a beer can. Preppers were constantly throwing out rotten food before the advent of canning. They couldn’t eat fast enough to salvage their provisions. Hoarders were literally at a loss. Even more than refrigeration, canning made all the difference in the lives of every precocious survivalist. A bomb shelter without canned goods is almost scarier than the detonation itself.

I don’t know how to say this, so I won’t. This was much harder for me than you. You'll be fine. You're young. You're smart. You're unemployed.

And should you ever need a euphemism, please don't hestitate to send a flare across a moonless, cloudless sky in the vicinity of my open air harbor office and I'll be sure to send one of my kayaker interns into the water to retrieve its contents.  

Fair winds.