Thirty-three years at my job. That is approximately 8, 250 working days. And I have only ten left.
I look around my office, my home-away-from-home. On my walls I have two watercolors, two large prints and a bunch of awards. On the credenza next to my desk, I have an engraved glass plaque, given to me in 1999 by our Mexican alumni association. It thanks me for my “unvaluable” contribution to our Mexican students. (I don’t know how to say “invaluable” in Spanish so I am not complaining about their English.) It’s next to a certificate from Harvard, thanking me for twenty-five years of service. On top of my bookshelves are family pictures that I change annually, the old ones saved in a folder in my desk.
Yesterday, I took photos of my office walls with my cell phone so I don’t forget what they looked like. Over the past two weeks, I’ve spent the time between meetings sorting through my files. I’m not nearly done, but I will be by August 30th.
It’s a bit scary.