Whew!!!

There. That's better.

So I told them today, and it was a unique experience. The directors, Dr. Lowe, Skip, Steve Dancz, Candy, and Brad (who came by because he wasn't sure if I would actually go through with it) were there to watch. Somehow, I got through it without choking up... one of those weird moments when you know you have to do something, don't want to, yet do... where something, somewhere takes over for a few minutes and gives you the right words at the right time and the emotional gumption to suck it up and say what has to be said.

There were sniffles and smiles.

At the end, the band stood for what I'm sure was over a minute and just applauded, followed closely by the annoyingly sweet "Brett, Brett, Brett..." thing they do. I let them go, and was immediately met by a teary-eyed staff and onlookers to the biggest bunch of hugs I think I've seen since the funeral I most recently attended. Even Dr. Lowe turned my handshake into a hug.

So there. It's done, and it meant something. And if nothing else works out ever, I've already gotten more than most people do in their entire lives. What's more, the chore of moving and the perils of stepping solo into a new world are beginning to look less like a retreat and more like a sortie.

So I get to take my last 72 hours as a director of the Redcoat Marching Band and soak it up. That's what I'm going to do.

I'm not completely relieved, and I don't expect that I ever will be. But I finally have some peace.