Time To Go

Burt Bacharach and Hal David wrote about 478 great songs together, and one of them came to my mind tonight while I was facing the book or booking the face or whatever the expression is.

In the musical "Promises, Promises!" they had a showstopper entitled "Knowing When To Leave," and here are some of the lyrics Hal David wrote:

Go while the going is good

Knowing when to leave may be the smartest thing anyone can learn.

Go!

I'm afraid my heart isn't very smart.

Fly while your still have your wings

Knowing when to leave will never let you reach the point of no return.

Fly!

... 

Though I'm sure that no one can tell when a wish is a hope,

Somehow I feel there is happiness waiting for me.

It came to my mind to share those words because I saw that someone who works where I once toiled has had enough, and gave two weeks' notice. In that job, people put up with day work and then night work, and 12 hours at a time, and that's nights, weekends, snow days, holidays, you get the picture. It's not a breeze-in, breeze-out deal, and the emotional strain of dealing with life and death and awful sadness can weigh heavy on the mind.

People were telling her it was time to go, but she was telling herself that she's not a quitter, so she stayed until she knew for sure that leaving was the only way to go on. I hope she doesn't feel like she's a quitter; she put in twelve years of stress and strain on her physical and emotional health, and the time has come, and she will seek a new tomorrow tomorrow!

The door goes both ways

Someone was talking about "Irish leave," which is the practice of slipping out of a party without announcing your departure and telling the whole crowd that you have to go home to change the filter on the furnace or something. I may start doing just that, on the grounds that people aren't as interested in anyone else's comings and goings nearly as much as they are in their own!

(Incidentally, I don't know why the Irish have to be branded with this. They already have to explain the concept of "Irish twins" - two kids born in the same calendar year. I used to ask my mother why she didn't have any more kids after me, but all she did was smile and shake her head.)

I worked with someone who dedicated herself so deeply to the job that it cost her several marriages and a few friendships and relationships. One day, she lamented to me, "I have given a lot for this job!" and all I could say was, "And for what?" because the bosses aren't going to tuck a little something in your pay envelope because you came in on your day off to rearrange the phone books. 

No. I always said, I was a jukebox, and when the quarters ran out, I stopped playing - and when I was tired of the songs, I juked on over to another spot. We owe our employer an honest day's work for the pay, and that's it. 

Same with friends and lovers and the guy who details your car. Be honest. If it's not good to you, it isn't good for you, so move on with your head held high.