Marty worked with a man who recently retired after thirty years of teaching. He taught military history and was one of those rare and special teachers whose subject matter was also one of their greatest interest. Given his personal investment in the topic, over the decades Terry arranged all sorts of unique and next-level experiences for his students. War veteran guest lecturers, field trips to working military bases, and watching soldiers drill with live ordinances. 

As you would guess, over these three decades he amassed quite a collection of physical materials from his varied experiences and relationships. Letters from students and colleagues, photos from trips, even actual historical artifacts (medals, gun casings, etc) given to him by other people . As he cleaned his room at year's end, he handled each object with a bit more reflection than usual as he boxed up this part of his life one last time. 

The next day, his last day, the first thing he noticed upon walking into his classroom was his carefully stacked rows of boxes were missing. Panicked, he ran to the floor’s janitor. He was told that everything was ok, and they knew it was his last day, so they made sure to clean his room first and threw all that garbage out for him. Minutes later, when he lifted the lids of the dumpsters behind the school, every one of them, like his classroom, was perfectly clean and empty. 

Terry’s friends had organized a retirement party for him that evening. Between his outgoing personality and long-standing tenure in the community, a lot of people came to celebrate his milestone. As we drove there, Marty told me about the boxes. I was gutted for Terry and could not imagine how I would react in the same situation. I wondered what I would do and how I would recover. The honest answer was not in a a way I would likely be proud of. 

When we got to the party, I studied Terry as he moved from group to group. I felt like I could see a heaviness about him that he was working to hide (I may have been projecting a small bit there). Then, when the time came for him to give a speech, he stood before everyone and opened by sharing the story of his boxes. He confessed to how devastating this was to him. Then he said when he looked around this space and at the great many people who came out to share in this moment with him, he realized he hadn’t lost a single thing that mattered that day.

And that was his speech. Surely one of the best I’ve ever witnessed firsthand. Kudos Terry. If you manage your next thirty years with the sort of poise and maturity you demonstrated there, I believe you have some fulfilling times ahead.