Lossy Data (6.25.25)
Such sweet sorrow.
I recently bid goodbye to a close friend at work. We had worked together for nearly fifteen years, and have known each other longer than that. He tells me he reads my writing, so if you are out there: this one is for you.
In the Apple TV series Severance, the lead characters have a chip transplanted in their brains that divides their memories into two. As “outies” they only remember what transpires outside the office – their homes, their families, friends and hobbies. As “innies” they only know their office lives – they do the work they are paid to do but have no awareness of their lives outside. “Outies” have no idea what they do for a living; colleagues are the only friends the “innies” have, so they get along, or fight, or even fall in love, without regard to their outside lives. This sets up many fascinating scenarios, one of which is the retirement of a colleague. There is a party, but it is in point of fact more akin to a funeral: you never see the person again, and you have no way of remembering, much less locating them, on the outside. They are, for all intents and purposes, leaving “this life” (i.e. they will become “dead” to the “innie” world).
In real life, treating someone’s retirement as akin to their death is somewhat of an over-dramatization. But actually, it seems, by not that much. Especially if you work at a place where you value culture over other factors like pay or prestige, losing a valued colleague transforms the work environment because it becomes a little (or perhaps a lot) less like how it used to be. Having to create new connections and workflows to address the disruptive impact of a colleague’s departure accentuates the effect: the new person may not be as warm or as capable, the new process may not work quite as smoothly. In these instances, every friction is a reminder of what once was, like seeing the trace of a departed loved one in the mannerism or dress of a stranger on the street.
Or perhaps the former colleague offered a dose of humor and an alternative perspective on the inevitable challenges of work. These are an oasis when the work feels dry and wearisome. The ability to laugh off a negative interaction or outcome is a critical component of workplace resilience, without which such frustrations can become demotivating. In this sense, a valued colleague plays the role of a parent, spouse or best friend, demonstrating empathy in the moment, confidence in your abilities, and providing the necessary encouragement to navigate your obstacle.
I’ve studiously avoided workplaces with a reputation for toxicity and politics. I just don’t have the stomach or patience for it, and it bewilders me that some people can either put up with it or engage in it. (I rapidly and perhaps unfairly draw the conclusion that they are complicit in bad culture setting; but in some cases, perhaps they are merely trying to survive or acting out in response to past trauma). But even at places I liked working at, I never stuck around long. After three or four years I would get bored and look for a new challenge. However, I’ve stuck around at my current place of work for a long while (nearing 15 years, as I mentioned at the start). I am sure that is in no small part due to the people I worked with making the work special, and that made me want to try to make it special for others.
The best colleagues are an inspiration in many ways. You get to know them, their families, their dreams, their struggles, their victories. You celebrate with them, lament with them, grow with them. They help you identify what it means to be, and strive to become, your best self. They are not perfect, but their flaws become endearing, just as those of a close relative or high school best friend. Your understanding of each other’s flaws – and conscientious decision to work in concert rather than in conflict – fosters teamwork, strengthens the groups, and makes both winning and losing more meaningful.
They say when it rains it pours. In addition to my close friend leaving the firm, recently there have been a number of departures of other colleagues. In most cases, I was not close enough to them that I will miss them dearly or daily. However, one such departure was a woman on my team, who I have worked with for seven years. We had built out a number of programs together, and I will lament not being able to extend that track record. She was a fantastic culture carrier and generous to the people she worked with, and will not be easily replaced.
I spent many days contemplating these developments. One goes through the expected ministrations: Why are people leaving? Is it time for me to go too? What will the impact be on me or my team? But this recent round of departures had me thinking more deeply. Initially, it didn’t even occur to me that I might need space to process the information. I just went about my work. But during my personal time, I found myself depressed and down even though things are going ok on that front. Rather than relaxing and enjoying time with my family, I spent time envisioning what I might say at my own farewell (even though I have no plans to leave). Back at work, I shied away from working through my feelings as I sometimes do, by opening up to other colleagues. Instead, I kept a lot of things to myself, putting it down to getting older or more sentimental.
But one day, I made a conscious decision to allow myself to feel, and to observe my own feelings. I realized that what I am experiencing is grief. I was saying goodbye not just to a colleague, but also a friend and mentor; saying goodbye to whatever work was like before, because it will be different after; saying goodbye to the illusion of legacy, and recognizing that whatever contributions I make to my work, they will be forgotten with the last person who saw me work up close, that not only am I replaceable, but my replacement is inevitable, and with that replacement, so too will the erasure of decades of getting up early, grinding, and coming home late.
Grief serves a purpose. It allows us to sort through the jumble pile of our lives and ascribe greater and lesser value to things. It sharpens the appetite for the meaningful, and dulls the appetite for the shallow. It reminds us that strength always stands in the shadow of frailty, that entropy (disorder) only increases over time. It cultivates gratitude and, eventually, mindfulness and appreciation of the present moment.
But that is for tomorrow.
Today, I think I am simply going to let myself feel.
Grace and shalom (peace) to you.
J
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Justin, your words moved me deeply, especially this piece. I’ve never quite reflected on the "outie" and "innie" worlds of life and work, though I’ve lived it closely—being married for two decades to someone I met at work. Some of the most impactful people in my life were work colleagues. They walked with me for a season, transformed me, and then left—and, as you so poignantly described, I may never see them again. That grief, in my experience, has never truly faded. It just settled quietly in a corner of my heart, accompanied by a silent wish that those who brought such light into my life receive it back tenfold.
Thank you for giving voice to feelings so rarely acknowledged, and for allowing space to honor those quiet, profound connections we make through work. Your writing gave me permission to pause, feel, and remember, with gratitude and tenderness.
Much gratitude for your posts. And, grace and shalom to you as well.
Wow, do I feel this one. I retired a year ago and while I have some contact with my best work friends...it's been a real loss...I was fond of even co-workers I only interacted with sporadically and superficially; I do miss them too. It's a loss. Thank you for talking about this - never have seen it discussed before though it's something every one of us will experience or has experienced.