u/GalaxiGazer

I'm enjoying my bbq chicken dinner while watching King of Queens when this came to me.

It's okay if you fumble, trip, stumble and fall. It's okay to mistakenly say the wrong thing at the right time (as long as it is truly a mistake) and go blank with not having the right words to say. No one is lurking and staring in the shadows, secretly laughing at everything that you're doing wrong.

Give yourself grace!

Don't be so hard on yourself! (I know, easier said than done. Preaching to the choir here)

It's okay to fall. Pick yourself back up. Show some compassion for yourself.

I hope this helps someone!

I love and appreciate you guys, SO MUCH!!!!

This sub has been my family, my safe place, my tribe.

Thank you, all of you, for being you!!!

ETA: I apologize if I used the wrong flair

Dear Maverick,

This is definitely not a love letter, and it's not supposed to be interpreted as such. Because I'm completely confident that you and I will never speak again, these words in this space is just a written record of my (attempt) moving on from 2025 and pressing on as I finish the remaining months of 2026 ahead of 2027.

Yes, the title gives it away that I'm getting these words out while looping Leona Lewis.

Anyway ...

During my really busy day at work, you were the heaviest on my mind. There's a lot that I wish I could thank you for, so much that I never will get to tell you. I'll get that out of the way first.

I first want to thank you for advising me on the car I needed to purchase after my car accident. I returned back to the dealership for its first scheduled maintenance and, for the first time in many years, I actually had a pleasant experience. Dealership staff aside, I approved of the work needed and paid for what I needed without any crushing worries over paying for such repairs. As my service advisor assured me of the quality of my car and worked with me as we planned out each maintenance appointment, I was very much at peace. I'm very glad that I had listened to you when you told me that specific vehicle to purchase. After my service appointment, after nearly exactly one year from the date I purchased it, I thought of you. I wish I could have called you or texted you to thank you. Instead, I'll express my gratitude here. Thank you!

I also want to address you as a former professional. As I remember your behavior the entire time that we worked together, while I barely remember anything you've told me (I mean, other than talking about sauce packets in your desk), I remember your behavior with me and how well you treated me. I want to thank you for not loudly broadcasting to everyone your personal opinion about the faint idea that I had liked you; I appreciated that you reserved those words for those who were professional as well as mature enough to keep what you told them in confidence. I thank you that, while you had several opportunities to do so, you did not distract me from working. You didn't play at my desk. You didn't encourage any kind of immature and inappropriate behavior from me. You didn't passively listen to me airing out my dirty laundry. (I never did those things) Instead, you let me work in peace. You kept your distance from me so I could focus on what I needed to get done. You also did not put me in a position of putting my professional reputation on the line; instead, you helped me preserve my professional relationships with everyone that served me well, even while I was packing up my desk. I appreciate very much how you were careful not to arouse or trigger me emotionally, say anything that would cause me to behave inappropriately, or engage with me in any way that would cause any problems with just about everyone else working. I want to thank you for that. I appreciate the respect you had shown to me, the space you gave to me, and that you honored my boundaries. You did all this while being jovial with the other guys, talking about your road trips with your friends, episodes of Rick & Morty, and making football bets ahead of each game.

Now, here's the painful part.

As I grieve you as my former coworker and closing that chapter of my life, I'm now becoming more aware that I have feelings of care and affection for you. When I think of you, I'm starting to affectionately care for the man with whom I used to work. I'm slowly seeing you less as a guy who used to sit near me before moving to the back office and more of the man who just happened to share the same boss. When I was able to collect myself when I had my late lunch, I allowed myself to cry. After nearly a year, I'm finally able to admit those affectionate feelings I've had for you. I cried allowing myself to enjoy them, being grateful that I now have the time, space, freedom, and a place in my heart to receive them. But why was it painful?

It's painful because, for better or for worse, the way I see you now is no longer professional, but personal. Even if you and I never say another word to each other, we never see each other again, the version of you that I met and with whom I worked in 2025 is gone. That's not you anymore. It was much easier to keep you in my memory as that geekazoid cheesehead I worked with, someone I could justify keeping at a distance and walking away from after 5p every day. Knowing that underneath all of that behavior that once existed at work were strong feelings of care and affection is honestly surprising because I didn't think that I could feel that way for you. Maybe it was also the shock that the universe wasn't willing to play along with me and allow the boss to keep me on his payroll, encouraging me to just one day wake up and be over you. My not being there anymore stripped me from any remaining control I had to keep you at a distance and walk away from you. Now the work begins on confronting those personal feelings I may have avoided.

What I just said makes the remaining portions of this letter difficult for me. It shows where I need to keep healing, where I need to open my heart, and how much further along I need to trust in the universe.

The first part that I want to address is the possibility that you are coming back and that the next time we connect, we'll be able to connect personally. We will be able to properly address things that could have happened, should have happened, glad-it-didn't-happen, and exploring what could happen moving forward. We'll be able to ask those uncomfortable questions and confront uncomfortable things. I don't anticipate this being anywhere near a romantic conversation, but it's still a conversation where we can finally address things. If this is a genuine connection that just needs time on both of our sides before we're fully ready for each other, it's likely you're dealing with something similar on your end. But like I have to work through things about myself and within myself on my own, you need to do the same for yourself. I don't know what your life is like right now, what you're going through, or even what lessons you're learning. Whatever it is, this is something you gotta learn from and grow through on your own. Perhaps it's providence that we're not able to reach out to each other right now, because we'd undermine our own healing by being distracted by each other. I don't know. I'm saying that I'm working on myself and preparing myself for the possibility of you coming back and prepared to have a few uncomfortable yet necessary conversations to make sure we're both on the same page.

I'm also realistically prepared to never see you again and my text providing you that referral (or the opportunity for one) was the closure that I needed. I can accept that you had served your purpose in my life, teaching me the lessons that I needed to learn, and pushing me to a new life and a new level of success I had no idea that I wanted. You were there when I needed you and you were what I needed at the time. You treated me well, you showed me respect, and you displayed by your behavior that you understood me quite well. Thank you for that. And as for this care and affection for you? I can also accept it for what it is. It doesn't have to be anything more than that.

Again, this was not meant to be interpreted as a love letter. If these words find you, I hope that you can see past any Velveeta to really listen to what I'm saying.

Sign me,

~ Iceman