I got the job. And I screamed. In the middle of the Metropolitan Museum, I covered the phone and screamed. I also did a little dance. While the lovely woman from HR explained the starting date and I half listened, I danced around the damn museum.
Less than one month later, on January 9th, I was walking out of the San Diego Airport and into the sunshine. I distinctly remember feeling the sun on my face, noticing the palm trees overhead and bursting out laughing. Having spent every winter of my life in abominably frigid weather, it was just absurd that palm trees could exist in January, let alone thrive.
That was the first thing I learned in San Diego. Palm trees inexplicably thrive year round...and so does the beach.
I learned how to say sorry, how to let things go and how to find inspiration even on the darkest days. Most of all, I learned how to love people. How to know their flaws and know them at their worst and that be OK. And how to let those people know your flaws, and let them love you anyway.
But when I really think about it... my teacher was not four walls and a roof. My teacher was much more than an office.
I had many teachers and they were the people that I worked for and with. The cause we pursued relentlessly. The many roads we drove, people we met and storms, literal and metaphorical, that we went through as we toured the country to speak about social injustice. And while I am so sad to see this chapter of IC close, I know that the organization did incredible work, and the ripple effect of that work is so much stronger than one office could have ever contained anyway.
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