It is not typical of me to approach someone I think I recognize, because there’s a good chance I recognize them for all the wrong reasons, or, worse, they may recognize me for all the wrong reasons. On a recent morning at Hannaford however, as I loaded Andy up with pudding and coffee before Skip and I departed for Boston, I saw a man whom I was fairly sure I worked with years ago at the Department of State. Intrigued, and on a Bette Davis/’Now, Voyager’-inspired intention to be interested in everything and everybody, I asked if he used to work for the State. His eyes gave a smile of reluctant bemusement, as if unsure whether his answer would be good or bad for whatever might follow. He said yes slowly, then I asked him which agency and he said a few. I asked if one was the Department of State, where I started. He affirmed it was, and then we placed the year at 2001, which confirmed it.
My memory bank flooded open, releasing thoughts of that very late summer of 2001, when I started my first state job on the verge of 9/11, at the bottom of State Street in downtown Albany. I remembered the name of the awful woman who ran that office, and he remembered her as well. He told me the rest of his state career story, involving Spitzer and the end of his time as governor, and then left me with some golden advice that seemed to be a message from the universe: “The first day you are able to retire… do it.”
Mentioning that I have about six years until I’m eligible, I pointed to my gray hair and said I definitely was feeling it. He said it will fly by, and I am certain it will. Until then, I will be interested in everything, and everybody, and do the best job I can do, listening to the whispers of the universe, and going with the flow.
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