On Leaving

Then some day you'll be sorry
Some day when you're free
Memories will remind you
That our love was meant to be

But late at night when you call my name
The only sound you'll hear
Is the sound of your voice calling
Calling after me

Just throwing it all away
Throwing it all away
And there's nothing that I can say

We're throwing it all away

--Phil Collins/Genesis, Throwing it All Away

Since I was young (maybe a teenager?) I’ve struggled with people leaving. I don't mean leaving for the day, or to go on a trip. I mean when people I'm close with move away or decide to quit the work we're doing together. It’s not exactly a pathology, like abandonment or separation anxiety. It’s something else; something more like anger or resentment. But it’s there. You could say, "of course, Dave, everyone gets hurt when people leave." And yes, that's right, I guess.

If I think back, the earliest I can remember feeling this way is when I was a young christian. A pastor or some other mentor type figure (I remember a student teacher in high-school specifically) that I became close to would leave to take a position at a different church, or perhaps step down from their role. I remember feeling resentful: "wait, I still need your wisdom. I still have things I need to ask you. Why would you leave with so much left unfinished?" These feelings are, of course, not rational. That very influential student teacher in my senior year of high school was never going to be able to stay. It's just not the way those things work. But, I also suffer from an occasional affliction of nostalgia, which is equally irrational. The two are clearly related and feed into one another.

I remember the outcome of this resentment over leaving was the development of a deep cynicism about people’s true motivations. I would say things like “they claim to want to do God‘s work but they just care about money.“ It’s a big world and I’m certain there are plenty of times when that does happen. I’m also sure it probably happened in some of the cases that I experienced as well. But, looking back, that’s probably just a really simplistic thing to say about a far more complex issue. Things are never as easy as they appear from the outside.

Nonetheless, those experiences helped to cement cynicism as one of my core personality traits (something I’ve worked hard to change in the last few years). It also produced, as is so often the case with psychological things, the counter-trait of loyalty. I’m a very loyal person. It takes a lot to get me to leave a person or a group that I’ve invested my life in. And, in a sort of feedback loop, that also makes me even more judgmental of people who leave before the “work is done“. I’m a person who likes to “finish”. And that, to a fault.

In the last few months, an organization that I’ve been attached to for a long time has experienced a lot of people leaving. There were various reasons for the departures, and everybody seemed to have a slightly different version of the same things to say. But, leaving is final. In the end, leaving or quitting trumps all the given reasons and just stands on its own as a verdict on what value was placed on the relationship and the shared work.

These recent experiences only reinforced my struggles with cynicism and distrust.

And then, this week, out of the blue, my friend Todd Cochrane passed away. Much has been written about Todd. He was one of a kind.

I knew Todd for about five years. Not as long as many. But, there’s one thing that is clear to me about him: he was in it all the way. He was committed to his company (Blubrry) and to the broader podcasting world more generally. He worked hard on both fronts for 20+ years. He was always going to be podcasting until the very end because he’s a person who had things to say, and a conviction about how to say them.

He never quit. He was never going to. There was no "plan b" for Todd. And, to me personally, that was a special gift. Just knowing that he was going to be there made a difference in my life and the work we all share in on Podcasting 2.0. His persistence served as a balm to my questioning and cynical personality. I didn't even realize that until he suddenly left, and my world looked and felt quite different.

In our modern world, just showing up - just being there every day - is such a virtuous act. It's unique and lovely. Todd showed up. He always showed up.

I'm thankful for the time I got to know Todd Cochrane, and for the effect he had on my life that he (and I) never knew about until he was gone. I'm thankful for the laughs we all got to share over drinks with him - sometimes at his expense, which he enjoyed just as much.

Lord, please comfort his family and his friends in their time of grieving. And, thank You for bringing him into my life.