You Will Be Found

I remember watching the 2017 Tony Awards on TV. Most theater nerds will remember this as one of the more controversial Best Musical races in recent history. The me who hadn't yet figured out how to use the internet to immerse myself into the theater community was fully unaware of the debates surrounding that year's nominated shows. I fairly arbitrarily wanted Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 to win on account of my roommate and her boyfriend had seen it on their trip to NYC that spring. But the Best Musical nominee performance that had me glued to the screen turned out to be that of Dear Evan Hansen. As I listened to the lyrics of "Waving Through a Window" for the first time, I found such a reflection of the inner turmoil that I'd so often felt when trying - and often failing - to figure out how to effectively connect with people and build friendships in my day-to-day life. Even writing this now, I found myself unable to pull just an excerpt of lyrics that seemed most important because every ounce of the song hits so close to home - so I'm giving you the full Tony Awards performance instead:

It's not that I didn't have friends while growing up. I always had a few very close friends, and I had a pretty solid core group of friends from 5th-12th grades. But that was mostly by way of pre-established friends connecting me to new friends (or, in my younger years, my parents helping me to find friends); any attempts at making new friends on my own was nearly always fruitless. And adult me had begun to realize how many one-sided friendships I had been in through the years. How often my friend groups had really just been me tagging along with a single friend and having the rest of the group tolerate my presence. These issues only compounded when I hit adulthood and struggled to find friends in the grown-up world. Even when I finally started joining regularly-meeting group activities (because finding people with shared interests is supposedly a major key to finding adult friends), I often felt on the outskirts as others connected and formed friendships that reached beyond the activity we were in. (Though maybe I just fully missed the subtle invitations because I'm told that my current core friend group spent years trying to get me to hang out after our choir rehearsals, and even when I started sticking around I spent months fully feeling like I was selfishly imposing because I wanted their company, not because they wanted me there.) Then there's the part where attempting to make new friends was forever made more stressful by experiences of the past; I constantly feared that opening up and being myself would lead to rejection and/or abandonment. The mental health professionals called it "thought distortion." I prefer to call it solid pattern recognition. When you go through life where people you considered friends suddenly drop you out of seemingly nowhere (sometimes practically alternating days between being friends or not friends - because that's what nearly all of 4th grade looked like), you start to keep your guard up at all times and prepare for the worst.

Dear Evan Hansen quickly became my favorite musical after that Tony Awards performance, and its marketing as a feel-good, mental illness stigma-busting story made it fairly popular among the general public as well. Usually when musicals I love hit more mainstream culture, I get crazy excited - and that's mostly how I felt watching Dear Evan Hansen's popularity grow. Until the day I heard a cover of one of its most popular songs hit Christian radio. And then I was irate.

When talking about church people, my core friend group and I have been known to talk about two distinctly different types of Christians. The first we often call Christians who only know how to Christian. They can tell you exactly what it looks like to live a good Christian life, but the Christian life is all they know. They're so tied up in the cliches and/or legalism of the faith that they lose sight of how to human. They have some understanding of the well-known pains of life - the struggles of marriage and parenting, the common physical health ailments, the grief of loss. But when others are feeling deep, scarring, emotional pain? When you're battling the depths of darkness that comes with turmoil of the soul, sometimes fully losing the desire to exist? The Christians who only know how to Christian don't know how to handle those types of experiences. At best you get shallow, superficial, inauthentic sayings and verses, and that's if they stick around at all. Most of the time they run in the opposite direction, too afraid of the level of discomfort it takes to face that kind of darkness and pain, much less daring to sit through it with the person experiencing it. And then there are the Christians who know how to human. They're often the ones who have experienced that kind of turmoil and pain, but they're much harder to find, especially as so many experiences in Christian communities have taught us that it's so much safer to hide that side of our lives from other believers.

So when "You Will Be Found" hit Christian radio airwaves? It's not that I didn't understand how the message fit - because it fits so many levels of clearly. And in general I don't have an issue with the concept of reclaiming secular songs for a sacred purpose - I've even sung in a group who often intentionally did just that. But this song? This song from a source so steeped in the type and level of darkness that Christians who only knew how to Christian reacted to by throwing a couple of Bible verses and cliches at me then running in the other direction in fear and/or disgust? How dare those types of people claim a song originating from a musical that made me feel so much more seen than I'd ever felt in a Christian community. I was fully enraged. It perhaps took suddenly finding myself surrounded by people who spent a lot of time sounding a lot like Christians who only know how to Christian but who carried themselves like Christians who know how to human for me to begin to feel differently. Though it took a lot of time and many seeds sown on less-than-welcoming ground, eventually tilled by compassion and radical authenticity, for me to get there.

This spring I read a blog. It started when I shared with a friend that I'd recently regained the ability to write as a tool to process life and was starting up my blog again after years of neglecting it, and she asked me to share it with her. As we conversed, it came out that she, too, had had a blog that she'd once also used to process life, and though she'd abandoned it long ago, I asked her to pass along the link to hers as well. When I first shared my blog with her, she expressed that she was excited to learn more about the inner workings of my brain, and the truth was that I was looking forward to doing the same with hers, even if she hadn't touched her blog in ages. It turns out that God had much more in store for me in the reading that was to come.

That week as I binge-read the new-to-me blog, using it as a way to wind down for bed each night after continually stressful work days, my experience began to feel like something out of a TV show or movie or book where a character suddenly gains the view into the past of someone in their life (via time travel, journal/diary, pensieve, etc.) and starts to understand how that person became their present day self. There were a lot of uncomfortable moments in that first readthrough, not because of the thoughts expressed and stories told but because of how convicting the message often was as everyday sins were shared not in a way that minimized them or covered their ugliness but that labeled them directly and harshly in a way that presented their stark realities - and then posted those sins on the internet for the world to see. Meanwhile I'd spent most of my adult life approaching the faith practice of confession with prayers of "Hey, God! We both know that I'm human and imperfect, and I screwed up today. Thanks for loving me anyway!" Because to dive into the depths of my imperfections and flaws and less-than-wise choices in life was more painful than the me steeped in the darkness of battling my brain could handle, even in the good stretches. And the more posts I read, the more I grappled with how such consistently blunt honesty was even possible. I struggled even more reading words and phrases that I'd always associated with Christians who only know how to Christian when these posts (plus the real-life friend who wrote them) fully lacked that vibe of inauthenticity and superiority. There were times when I emotionally distanced myself from the messages shared, skimming until I got to more comfortable posts again. But I kept reading, working backward in time through older and older posts, until I reached a 4-part series near the beginning where everything suddenly came together.

The series of posts described a journey through the deepest darkness. The kind where battling one's own brain is destructive and all-consuming and long-lasting. As I poured over the details, I realized that while the specifics of our journeys were different, the depths of the dark and twisty and the breadth of its impact hit far closer to home than I ever expected.

Shit.

I recognize that swearing isn't the typical reaction to a revelation from God, but that's the word I repeated over and over that day - and, honestly, often since as I've been unable to find an adequate replacement, and it's been months at this point. You see, through my adult life, I've managed to gather up other friends who understand what it's like to fight the darkness of battling one's own brain. Nearly all are able to fight that darkness while mostly continuing with everyday life. It's a far cry from the year I had to take a medical leave that included multiple rounds through intensive group therapy programs or the later time that I felt something in me mentally/emotionally snap, leading to a sudden job departure (after failing to secure a medical leave) that wound up resulting in a year and a half of unemployment and a full mental health crisis that lasted even longer (to be fair, a few months after the day I snapped, there was a pandemic and the world shut down, super compounding the crisis mode I was already in). While I do have some friends who understand the darkness of spiraling where you cycle in and out of the deepest feelings of hopelessness, unable to function on some of the most basic of levels, sometimes finding yourself to a point of despairing of life itself,  those friends are primarily ones who still spend a large portion of their time in the midst of that darkness, still trying to find their way out. And while there's a certain comfort that comes from knowing that you're not alone in the darkness, it doesn't provide a pathway to a brighter future. But this? This series of blog posts? This was someone who had walked the full depths of darkness and made it through to the other side - and whose faith was strengthened through it.

Shit.

My mind cycled through that series of blog posts for the entire day that followed in what I can only describe as a wrestling of the soul. I read and re-read and tried to be sure that I had correctly understood the story being told. Given how long ago it was written, I questioned if my friend remembered how much she'd shared of her experience with darkness, grappling with whether she'd ever meant for me to have that much knowledge of the story at all. And I wondered what I was supposed to do with all the information I now held because it seemed that it wouldn't have been revealed to me unless God had a reason for it.

"When you're broken on the ground, you will be found." - Dear Evan Hansen

I've often heard stories of people of faith being brought to their knees in a moment of reckoning, but I'd never experienced it. I'd only seen it happen once as I watched fellow church members come before God as our church was falling apart. But the day I read those blog posts? As my mind continued swirling while I attempted to get ready for an event that evening, there was a moment when my legs gave out from under me with the mental, emotional, and spiritual weight of it all, and I fell to my knees. In that moment, God spoke to my heart and said "It's time," and I responded "Okay."

I honestly didn't really know what I was saying "okay" to at that moment in time. I just knew that it was the only way forward from that spot on the floor on my knees and that no matter where the journey I was saying "okay" to took me, there was something good that lay on the other side. I'd already begun sensing that I was entering a season of major spiritual growth and refinement. Realistically, that season had begun in the week leading up to that moment. And if I'm being entirely truthful? I was still on so many levels resistant. I mean, I was open to the idea of growth. Growth is so often about taking where you are and building on it, making it stronger. Which is why I'd spent the week okay with re-dedicating myself to the idea of trusting God and being more intentional about inviting Him into my life. But the refinement part? Refinement means painfully burning pieces away, and while those pieces are undesirable by the definition of refinement itself, it doesn't make the unknown of what life looks like without them feel any less scary. Plus the last time I'd tried to prune off pieces of me, it had ended in such disastrous agony that I'd vowed to never do it again and had only recently fully healed from the ordeal. And over all else, accepting refinement meant having to not just accept but address that present me was greatly flawed, which is so many levels of a deep spiral in which I traditionally end up feeling like I'm wholly worthless and undeserving of any version of love and acceptance ever. But in the days that followed that moment on my knees after reading my friend's blog, God's message became clear: "You see that I brought her through the depths of darkness and how she emerged on the other side. You can trust that I'll bring you through it, too." And the thing is, a piece of me always knew that what lay on the other side of refinement was better, but that's the first time I trusted that I'd survive the journey it would take to get there.

"Out of the shadows, the morning is breaking, and all is new, all is new.
It's filling up the empty, and suddenly I see that all is new, all is new." - Dear Evan Hansen

A few weeks later when I published a blog post that went in depth on some of my daily faith battles through the previous work week, my blog-writing friend (who now describes herself as one of the biggest fans of my blog) shared how it had made her teary reading it for the joy that she had to see me coming out of my experience in darkness, knowing what it had been like battling through her own darkness to get to the other side. I paused for a moment and reflected aloud at how many times I thought I had made it out of my experience in the darkness only to plunge right back into it, like falling off a high cliff to the deepest of depths. And after a moment of further thought, I shared, truthfully, that this time feels different. I'm not entirely sure how to describe it. I feel very much a different person than I was mere months ago. In some ways it's a reclaiming of my best selves of the past. The faith focus I had in my junior high years. The same confidence I had then, too. And the same sense of self worth and contentment (with an eye on improvement) that I had for a few brief months around the time I turned 30. But I also feel in many ways fully new.

"This means that anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!" ~ 2 Corinthians 5:17

My faith background is very Lutheran, but also very Evangelical-adjacent. So while I grew up in a tradition of infant baptism and teen confirmation, I spent plenty of time amongst friends and a greater faith community who often spoke of "giving/surrendering your life to Christ." I don't think I ever fully understood that concept until this spring. It's not that I hadn't invited God to be part of my daily life in the past. Prayer was a huge part of my faith life in my tween/teen years. High school me used my long bus ride to school as a Bible reading devotion time, and both high school and college me carried my Bible in my backpack at all times to have it handy on rough days. Adult me often put major job decisions in front of God (I mean, I more than once seriously questioned His recommendations, and though the situations they brought me into were painful, I can reluctantly admit that He put me on the pathways to where I needed to be). But even in those times, I think I always maintained a shred of control. Pieces that I didn't want to share (my faults in particular). Pieces that I didn't want to entrust to anyone - God or others - to help carry the load of. But these days? I spend much more time thinking of and noticing God's presence in my life. In moments of frustration or stress, I try to place my burdens in His hands. In moments of joy (even the tiny ones), I'm more likely to remember to first give Him the thanks and glory. And I'm trying to trust Him with the scarier parts of me, daily confronting my sins in His presence and occasionally confessing them to others (and I'm slowly but surely getting better at resisting the urge to minimize those sins with flowery words that gloss them over and instead more humbly admitting them with the harsh words that speak of their ugly realities). And while each piece of that is a struggle, it's one that I've more often begun to fight head on rather than shy away from (or, in full honesty, run in the opposite direction of). And for the first time in a very long time, on more days than not, I feel like somehow in the end, things are going to be okay.

This isn't to say that a faith in God or any faith practices are going to fully prevent you from having to battle the darkness of your brain. When I received my first mental health diagnosis, I was living with roommates who were Christians that only knew how to Christian. When I disclosed my diagnosis to them at our weekly roommate Bible Study and talked about how I had set up regular appointments at the campus counseling center and had begun working with the health center to find meds, they asked if I'd instead tried praying or reading the Bible more; their response was the same any time I had a particularly rough day in the weeks and months that followed - and that response was devastating. Every. Single. Time. So I'm not telling you that my faith has cured me nor that if you had more faith you'd be cured of any of your own brain battles. And that's first because I'm not cured. I still have rough days. Ones where the world feels like it's spinning out of control, where everything feels impenetrably clouded, where I feel irreparably broken by my faults and imperfections. On many of those days God's presence is hard to feel and trust in. Others of those days letting God in still opens up a wave of vulnerability that I'm still terrified to let the people around me see. And if the number of all-too-recent days I've spent feeling inexplicably spiraling or just in a funk has taught me anything, it's that days spent fighting the darkness in my brain aren't going to go away. But also - and more importantly? My experience this spring didn't happen because I sought God. I was fairly actively avoiding Him and the change He was preparing me for. I rejected the seeds of faith that others were sowing in my life as I intentionally allowed the people around me believe that my faith life was as active as their own (though I've since come to seriously doubt that they ever believed the facade). It was not acts of faith that began lifting me out of darkness but a God who sought me. In His perfect time. In His perfect way. Surrounded by the people He knew I'd need to have around me in order to surrender to this season of life.

In the years since Dear Evan Hansen won the Tony award for Best Musical, its popularity has taken a nosedive off a cliff. A great many theater fans have come to the critical opinion that the characters are horrible people and it's irresponsible to tell a story about horrible people grappling with mental illness - whether it's their own, a friend's, or a family member's. Personally I find the premise that the characters are horrible people to be shallow and misguided, but I'll save that full argument for another day. More importantly, to me what makes the musical so profoundly beautiful is how people are struggling and failing to effectively deal with the darkness of brain battles - and then they keep on trying anyway. And the thing is? That's reality. Because humans are gonna human. We're imperfect and we're going to fail, and sometimes that looks like hurting others deeply even without intending to do so. My mistake through all my years of struggling to find belonging and acceptance while battling with and untangling my brain was my single-minded pursuit of humans to pull me out of it. When I related my struggles to Frozen's Elsa, I felt like I was searching for someone to be my Anna, to help convey to the outside world that I still had value even in my darkness. There were times when I listened to Dear Evan Hansen's "You Will Be Found" and longed to find the place where I'd belong brain battles and all - in a friend group, in a job, etc. It turns out that teen you can fully give a talk on a youth retreat about "God Is Love" where one of the main points is how human love fails but God's love is unfailing, but accepting that and surrendering yourself to that is something entirely different. Because finding rest in God's love feels so nebulous when He's not there in human form to share it with you through spoken words or physical actions. It's part of the reason a God who I know rationally is ever-present still felt too distant to rely upon for comfort for so many years. So I desperately sought the caring and support of humans, often facing rejection and abandonment and betrayal. There were good ones who stuck around, but humans are still human and aren't meant to carry the weight of the world. And in these instances I often swung between extremes, still throwing my burdens their way on days that I shouldn't have or carrying my burdens alone, keeping them to myself so as to not add to my friends' loads but still unwilling to trust those burdens to God. Until the week this spring when I equally didn't want to add to my work friends' loads in our season of understaffing and no supervisor in the building, but I inexplicably couldn't carry my own load solo, and, for whatever reason, that week I decided to let God handle the weight of it all. But the thing is? God still sends humans to be His hands and heart in helping carry you through. Because the God who tells us to cast our burdens on Him (1 Peter 5:7) also commands us to bear one another's burdens (Galatians 6:2).

"You are not alone
You are not alone
You are not alone
You are not alone
You are not alone
You are not alone
You are not, you are not alone." - Dear Evan Hansen

Did I just repeat that sentence as many times as it gets repeated in the song? Yep (though I did at least remove the echoes for you). Was that repetition necessary? Absolutely. Because it's a phrase that sometimes has to be heard over and over and over again in order for you to believe it. Because even as frequently as I seek isolation to retreat from the over-stimulation that can often be other people, the me whose brain has a tendency to spiral often desperately needs help in finding my way back out of it.  More and more I find myself speaking to God in these moments, trying to discern how to best battle the darkness that begins seeping into my life once more. Trying to keep my eyes on the cross. But the more I do that, the more I begin to see how He works through the people around me to bring comfort and humor and joy and grace - especially grace. Because on the days that my overloaded brain loses its filter and fully trauma dumps before I've figured out how to stop myself, the work friends who got unexpectedly dumped on have continued to offer their assistance and company. Because on the days that my brain's response to stress is to find ways to fully razz my closest work friends who fully don't deserve it, they continue to put up with me without complaint. Because on days that I have a total breakdown at work for reasons that are wholly irrational, and especially the ones that are entirely selfish and deserving of all the guilty feelings I felt about them, I've been repeatedly met with nothing but grace and encouragement and support. Because somehow as I move through this season when my brain is so busy processing all of life, the friends whose texts and message threads I've gotten even worse than usual at replying to still welcome what responses I do send without question or judgment. Because in this time when God is asking me to learn to be willing to honestly and openly share with Him and others my weaknesses and flaws and mistakes, He has surrounded me with people who when confronted with those parts of me do not run away but sit down with me in the ugliness and the brokenness and help me pick up the pieces once more - even when those same people are the ones who have been hurt by my weaknesses and/or flaws and/or mistakes of the present. And while so many of those types of moments have made me feel like an emotional parasite in the past (and honestly still do more often than not), God has presented me with the opportunities and strength to help bear others' burdens as well. Moments to be a listening ear. Moments to provide an encouraging word. Moments to be a calm presence. Moments to provide insight. Moments to put into words what others could not. Even moments to provide humor (which I am wholly convinced I'm fully incapable of without God working through me). Hopefully moments where I'm able to remind others that they are not alone the same way they've given me that gift.

I know that there's still a lot of refinement to come. Lessons that I'm still learning - and ones I've already proven that I'll have to learn over and over and over again before they stick. There will be plenty of days of pain yet to come. Plenty more times that I look to the heavens and tell God "I don't like you right now" before surrendering to His will once more (and definitely a whole lot of ones that I still try to do it my way because this stubborn will doesn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon). There are trials I've experienced and others I can already see coming where the lessons I've been learning will be tested in the biggest of ways - and there have been and will continue to be times that I wholly fail those tests and have to learn once more. Plus so many more moments of uncertainty. But thus far, the God who provides has given me what I needed each step of the way. The right song at the right moment. The Bible verse/passage I needed to read or be reminded of. The meme or video with a message I needed to hear. The uncanny ability to interweave Sunday sermons, my daily devotions, and life all together in a way that absolutely cannot be mere coincidence. And precisely the people who I need to be surrounded by in this season. Those who sow seeds of faith. Those whose example gives me hope. Those who act as mirrors of the uglier sides of me in a reminder of where I still need refinement. Those who are willing to sit with me in the broken pieces of imperfect days. Those whose words provide grace even when I don't feel deserving. And strengthened by God and the supports He has graciously provided in my life, I now, for perhaps the first time, truly, daily trust that God's love is enough not just to cover my sins but to carry me through the journey of working to better purge those sins from my everyday life. And no matter the days of trial that lie ahead, I am not alone. I have been found.

Shenanigans

On days when your brain feels like it's in a cramp, and the isolation of working on your own feels like it's going to drive you insane, and you don't have a clue how you're going to figure out how to focus and be productive for the last 2.5 hours of your 9-hour work day, you just have to take a few minutes and go hide a duck.

All I'm saying for now is that this is one of my favorite coworker's most recent whiteboard creations, and, well, it's accurate.

But maybe I should rewind a bit.

It's possible it started in part the first time a balled up piece of paper flew past my head as I pushed my cart through the warehouse. Or perhaps it was when I repeatedly watched my co-workers launch rubber bands at our supervisors' kids (who launched them right back, much more successfully). But then again, those were examples of other people's fun and games. No, it mostly started the first time I got accused of packing someone into a gaylord (large, pallet-sized box) to ship off with my large conference order.

Coworker B, also known for her paper ball throwing and rubber band launching, was the one to make the accusation. Coworker X had left early that day, and Coworker B was jokingly convinced that Coworker R and I had packed Coworker X into the gaylord that we were working to put together. I, being generally horrible at playing into such ideas, was ready to refute it immediately only for Coworker R to go along with the joke without missing a beat (and that was the day that I fully realized that she's one of those quiet ones that you have to watch out for - though I probably should have figured that out a couple of months prior when she backhanded Coworker L in the arm for being facetiously whiny/sassy at me). Coworker B joked that she was going to steer clear of us before we could pack her into a gaylord as well. And so began the longest-running inside joke of my adult work life. When Coworker Y joined our ranks the following week, I quickly recruited her to mine and Coworker R's side despite Coworker B's best efforts to quickly win Coworker Y over (it helps that Coworker Y was already familiar with Coworker R). There have been times that Coworker B complains of needing a break, and one of the rest of us will offer to pack her into a gaylord to ship off to the next conference (we have since been informed that said gaylord must be big enough to lie down in and to fit snacks). There have been other times when I've stood plotting with Coworkers R and/or Y about ways to best trap someone inside of a gaylord while watching Coworker B from afar (the use of giant rubber bands from our rolls of packing paper may have been suggested enough times that we have a couple of said rubber bands stashed away as a threat). All for the fun and games of it, of course. But also for the stress relief, because cutting down and re-working a gaylord (or, more recently, just constructing our own giant box out of whatever cardboard is on hand) to fit a couple dozen or more large fancy unboxing-style boxes is one of the banes of our existence, and the joke helps us to pass the time in less frustration than when we just focus on the task at hand.

It figures that my last pieced-together box of the season fit Coworker B's size requirements (see step stool at lower left for scale). Coworker R said we could even fit a TV in there. But after approving the size, Coworker B said we should send Coworker Y instead - and Coworker Y separately declared that she volunteered as tribute. So if either one of them has gone missing, you'll probably find them wandering around a hotel in Phoenix.

This is the first time in my recollection that I work with people who so frequently enjoy a side of play in their work days. In a job that often requires manual labor and repetitive tasks, it helps lighten the mood and gets us through the tough days. (Or, for those of us whose brains sometimes get stuck, it provides a moment of levity to help get our brains back on track.) There are the little things. Shifting each others' supplies to a nearby (theoretically obvious) location. Small objects tossed at someone not paying attention. (The day Coworker L nailed Coworker Y between the eyes with a candy wrapper while she was staring at her phone at lunch shall be a forever classic in my mind). Drawings, notes, and oragami left in work spaces. I once arrived to find my cart rubber-banded to one of our shelves with a note that said "Sorry, not sorry." And then there are the bigger things like the ongoing joke about packing people into gaylords.

Pretty sure this is the first drawing Coworker B ever left on my cart. It's lived in my locker ever since.

If I remember correctly, the Friday before this was not a great day for me, so Coworker B left this note on my cart to find when I arrived on Monday morning.

Someone left this lovely butterfly on my shelves, and it continues to make me smile each time I see it.

I kept the note. I really wish I'd thought to take a photo of the cart rubber banded to the shelves.

Sometimes the play is theoretical. There was a day that Coworker K threatened to drop her pen into Coworker B's coffee mug from the mezzanine up above. I only caught the "Don't drop that in my mug!" that Coworker B exclaimed, so I questioned what was being dropped, at which point Coworker Y piped in "Coffee?" in response after only hearing the mug part of the conversation as she walked up our aisle. My curiosity took hold, and Coworker Y and I spent the weeks that followed hypothesizing about what would happen if we tried to pour coffee into a mug from the mezzanine, planning out all the details of what we'd need in order to attempt it (things like the necessity of going to buy coffee from the McDonalds down the road because we weren't going to waste good coffee on an experiment). That joke did unfortunately go a bit stale for a stretch after the day that Coworker Y opted to mix creamer into her travel mug of hot coffee by way of shaking said mug, which, if you have any understanding/recollection of physics, you can probably accurately predict ended in a massive eruption of coffee. After an hour of cleaning up coffee splatter from everywhere and having to be part of very anxiety-provoking conversations with Coworkers R & L (who took it much better than either Coworker Y and I expected) regarding the coffee mess and how it affected product on shelves, I temporarily lost my interest in trying to pour coffee off of the mezzanine into a mug held by someone on the warehouse floor. But my interest eventually returned somewhere around the day we opted to try dropping ducks from the mezzanine instead. (And by "we" I mean I joked it and then was shocked - but shouldn't have been - when Coworker R actually followed through. Have I yet mentioned that she's one of those quiet ones you have to watch out for?)

And now we've come back full circle to ducks. Because over the last number of months our play is both real and large-scale (but actually tiny - most of the time) and spreading. A few months ago, Coworker Y found a bunch of tiny resin rubber ducks on Etsy, and they have slowly but surely found their way first across the warehouse and then across the rest of the building. It started with a single duck in which she drilled a hole and placed a magnet then stuck on the metal button on top of her baseball hat. And then other ducks got magnets added to them and started getting stuck elsewhere. Until there were no more magnetic ducks at which point regular ducks got placed elsewhere as well. Eventually both my work area and hers were filled with ducks. Then Coworker B started helping the ducks in my work area fly to new locations (still in my work area). Coworker Y proceeded to return the favor by flying Coworker B's growing collection of ducks from their neatly arranged spot on her desk to varying other hiding places in Coworker B's office area. And when Coworker Y learned a new role that allowed her access to otherwise hard-to-reach parts of the warehouse, she started depositing ducks up there as well. Eventually Coworker Y and I spread ducks to the office end of the building - I in my dad's office and she much more daringly in the hallways between the warehouse and the lunchroom - which were soon followed by back entrance lobby ducks and bathroom ducks.

The first of many lookout ducks

Our ceiling support beam duck. Coworkers B & Y insist he's there to spy on me. I still say he's my own personal guard duck.

It turns out that rubber bands that have been hanging on the shelf so long that they've hardened make for really nice duck swings.

The level of effort that Coworker Y put into placing this particular duck was impressive. As in she took apart a pen and used its parts to fully get the duck in place.

One of the earliest taped ducks

This duck is highly camouflaged from adult height but apparently notably obvious from small child height.

When wood knots start falling out of pallets, the obvious response is to turn them into a tiny duck Pride Rocks (a la The Lion King).

Random hardware on the wall makes for a great platform

Tiny duck on a chalkboard eraser

At some point creative photo taking became a way to hint at where we'd hidden ducks. Props to you if you can figure out what object this duck is hiding behind because Coworker R had Coworker Y and me stumped for days trying to find it.

Duck on a pallet jack from the day that Coworker B first taught the ducks in my area how to fly.

The first camouflaged duck of many, also courtesy of Coworker B.

Coworker Y's "You fly our ducks, we fly yours" response Part 1

"You fly our ducks, we fly yours" Part 2

The first duck to dare fly high into the warehouse racks

One of Coworker Y's office hallway ducks

My dad's most visible office duck

Potentially my dad's favorite office duck

The lobby tree looked lonely, so I gave it a duck friend

Coworker R left this one to greet us outside our department door

As luck would have it, a duck fits perfectly in the corner between the bathroom mirror and the wall

Hanging out on the bathroom air freshener. Just hidden enough to remain unnoticed by most for a notably long time

At some point we started naming our ducks. When one was given a jeweled "microphone" (long-unclaimed stud earring), she was dubbed Beyonce. Another duck was given a drawn-on bowtie and became "Dapper Duck." Two birds on a rubber band swing hung from the mezzanine were "The Lovebirds." The duck placed on a "balcony" became Juliet (who at some point had a Romeo, but I don't recall where he wound up). The semi-accidentally beheaded ducks (and by semi-accidentally beheaded, I mean they were thrown at the ceiling to see if the magnets would stick there until multiple collisions with the metal ceiling and cement floor led to their heads breaking off) were intentionally glued back together on each other's different-colored bodies and became the Frankenducks. Another accidentally beheaded duck whose head didn't glue back on quite right became "scarf duck" for his scar-hiding accessory. And, true Minnesotans that we are, we lined up two yellow ducks followed by a once-white duck colored silvery gray and named them "Duck, Duck, Gray Duck."

Beyonce on her stage

At some point Coworker B determined that her Donald & Daisy with their microphone needed to join in, soon after which point it was determined that they're Beyonce's parents.

Dapper Duck

The Lovebirds. Credit to our department manager for being the first person to see these ducks without assistance (her daughter became the second to do so). "It looks like you guys had a lot of time on your hands" she commented after returning from her leave of absence. "No - we were just that stressed" Coworker R explained.

Juliet who lives on her balcony above the warehouse office

One of the Frankenducks. Its other half resides at the bottom of Coworker R's tape gun where it's too shadowy to get a good picture.

Scarf Duck

Duck, Duck, Gray Duck

There came a point where on top of placing ducks for anyone to find, the four of us who had become the primary duck hiders started to prank each other. On a day when Coworker Y forgot to lock her locker at the end of the day, Coworker R dropped a duck inside what turns out to have been a non-rinsed coffee mug - a mug that Coworker Y could lift by said duck by the time she discovered it there weeks later. When Coworker Y repeated the mistake of leaving her locker unlocked at the end of the day a few weeks later, her consequence was additional locker ducks - who, too, took weeks to be found. Soon after, Coworker B figured out that there was enough of a gap between the lockers that you could toss a duck into someone's locked locker from either the locker above or below - and that's how I wound up with my own first locker ducks. Now, pranking someone who doesn't have a consistent work space is a bit harder of a task, but when opportunity presented itself, I couldn't resist the temptation of a sweatshirt left unattended by Coworker R one afternoon, so I placed a stowaway in her pocket  - a trend that continued and grew to the point that Coworker R now rarely picks up a sweatshirt or jacket she's set down without checking for ducks in every pocket - inside and out - plus the hood after one too many experiences of sending ducks flying after grabbing her set aside outer layer far too quickly. Each of us who has a tape gun labeled with our name has had at least one duck taped inside of it by one or more of the others. And, truthfully, I'm fairly certain that every one of us four who's left a personal belonging unattended in the vicinity of someone else has come back to find it inundated by a flock of ducks. When Coworker Y was able to add magnets to some more ducks, she left one on the car that Coworkers R & L share. When the other three original duck hiders found some regular-sized rubber ducks on a day that I was off, they hid one on my cart and another in a box for me to find - only for those ducks to make their rounds as well. Because the downside of pranking someone with ducks is that it means you've just given them further ammo to use against you.

Duck hidden in the front top corner of Coworker Y's locker

Duck semi-camouflaged on Coworker Y's energy drink. I thought she'd find it right away. As it turns out, it was another week before she needed the extra caffeine boost.

My first locker duck. It was very friendly. And landed so nicely I assumed my dad had helped Coworker B into my locker to place it.

My second locker duck didn't land nearly as nicely

There came a day when I walked past Coworker R's jacket and saw a flash of yellow. Let it be known that I only placed one of those ducks. Apparently she was having a day because she fully missed what I assumed were obviously visible ducks and sent all of them flying when she grabbed her jacket to leave that evening.

Occasionally (possibly more than occasionally) the ducks decide to hide after they've been sent flying, and sometimes we let them stay there for a while (particularly when they've chosen a non-tripping hazard location like our more stationary pallets).

The very first tape gun duck. I was fully convinced that I'd been caught red-handed when hiding it. As it turns out, Coworker R didn't find it until the following day.

It turns out that all you have to do is turn away for about 30 seconds for Coworkers Y & B to add a bunch of ducks to your tape gun. If you disappear upstairs to ask a different work friend a question and wind up processing the previous 6-ish months worth of work stress until it's suddenly 45-60 minutes later, you come back to twice as many ducks on your tape gun.

I'm fairly certain that at this point, Coworker R is more surprised to come back to her unsupervised mug and find it duckless than she is to come back to it looking like this. (Actually, this might be a mild ducking...)

The photo Coworker L texted us when he found the duck that Coworker Y left on his car

Big duck left for me to find after I'd taken a day off

All I'm saying is that if you want it to take me a while to find the duck you've hidden, you maybe shouldn't include it on the post-it note saying what's in the box

I didn't even tell anyone when I found the duck. I just edited their note as an update.

Of course I had to creatively re-hide the duck. It proceeded to wind up taped similarly on one of my cart shelves the next day courtesy of Coworkers B & Y.

The duck I found taped to my locker the day after Coworker R found the stowaway duck I'd sent home in her sweatshirt pocket. 

Coworker R also hid a duck in Coworker B's shared coffee maker that day.

Coworkers B & Y managed to sneak a duck into my jacket hood the day after I first sent one home with Coworker R. They got their due respects via text and photo.

I recently coped with a super stressful day by taking a moment to see how many ducks I could fit on Coworker R's travel mug lid. The answer was 14. All of which I later discovered in the handle of my tape gun. "That's payback!" was her only response to my discovery.

It was Coworker R who first pointed out that someone's absence for part or all of a day was the perfect opportunity to fill their work area with ducks. It started when Coworker Y took a long weekend trip. She came back to hidden ducks with letters spelling out her name (though intentionally missing the I with the implication of there being no "I" in team - an appropriate allusion to her selflessness, but also because she's continually threatened to hide ducks labeled 1, 2, 3, & 5 in Coworker L's office to see how long it'd take for him to realize that Duck #4 didn't exist). She also came back to a semi-hidden duck dispenser that took her over a week to find as all the duck hiders in our department (plus my dance classmates who I'd proudly told about its construction) waited not-so-patiently to find out her reaction. When Coworkers R & L left early to go to a friend's wedding, Coworker L came back to a thoroughly ducked office cube. Coworker R's next day off resulted in a duck mural (ducks in the outline of a duck) inside her locker.

Coworker Y's duck dispenser.

It took Coworker Y such an inordinate amount of time to find the duck dispenser that I started hiding other ducks nearby to help guide her vision. To no avail.

Coworker L's office ducks tend to find their way to other animal friends.

Coworker L's response to one of his office ducks.

Coworker R's locker duck mural.

When Coworker R found the leftover cutout from her mural, she colored it in and added it to an empty spot on the back entrance bulletin board.

The duck continues to live on said bulletin board to this day.

At some point ducks became my go-to strategy for dealing with days that were not only stressful but that separated my original duck-hiding friends and me to the literal four corners of the warehouse. Can't focus? Take a few minutes to hide a duck. Feel like I can't stay awake while counting thousands of paper handouts? Take a few minutes to hide a duck. Annoyed by having to go upstairs to search for a product for the third time in the past hour? Hide a duck or two or dozen on my way up and back.

It's possible you can often tell how stressed out I am on any given day by the number of  ducks that get added to Coworker R's stairwell-adjacent, lockless locker... And yet somehow we're still friends?

On a day that Coworker Y needed to clear her head, she escaped to my work area to create this humorous ab-duck-tion scene.

Eventually others began to catch on, and each time we held our collective breaths. As each additional member of our department found joy in the ducks, our duck-hiding grew. Duck charms were added to crocs. More work areas gained duck friends. Ducks got handed off to those willing to hide them. When our HR person came through and questioned the duck taped to my cart, I cowered as Coworker R piped in that we were surrounded by ducks, and the HR person not only began to notice our duck infestation but shared in the joy of ducks - and was soon after happy to be gifted some ducks of her own. No panic was greater than the day our CEO entered the department by way of my work area and started asking questions about the ducks. Did I know anything? What was the meaning behind them? How many had been hidden? As I gave the most vague-but-truthful answers possible, he added that he really wanted to see if he could try to find them all. I breathed a sigh of relief, and after I passed the story on to my dad, he opted to add a few ducks to our CEO's office as well. We had a couple of other close calls after that, but even those who started out questioning the ducks turned out to find joy in them. And as customers and interviewees passed through our department on tours, they also commented on how fun they found the ducks to be. The ducks were tiny bringers of joy to nearly everyone who spotted them. Even live ducks in the neighborhood seemed to discover their welcome as they began regularly hanging out just outside the emergency exit door in Coworker Y's work area.

The first of many ducks to find a home on the mezzanine windowsill

One of my proudest hidden ducks. Camoflauged so well that, to my knowledge, no one has ever seen it without it first being pointed out.

From the day Coworker R discovered you could fit a duck inside a doorstop. Doorstops have since become one of our favorite duck hiding places.

As it turns out, a duck fits perfectly on the end of a stairwell railing.

The plant looked lonely, so it gained a duck friend

For the record, this duck is fully secured on its heart even when the fan is running.

Coworker J found a great duck camouflage spot on top of the blade disposal container in her work area.

The one spot on a pillar's caution tape that was actually sheltered enough from forklifts to be able to place a duck there

As it turns out, a duck head fits perfectly in the bolt holes of the warehouse racks.

Duck heads also fit through the hole of a random washer found on the warehouse floor.

The cart duck I thought may undo us. In person it's a little reminiscent of a cartoon character strapped to the front of a speeding train, so I feel a little bad leaving it there, but I love it too much to move it.

Duck hidden by our CEO's pencil cup.

My dad still wishes he knew our CEO's reaction to discovering a duck on top of his webcam.

Ducks hanging around outside Coworker Y's work area

Duck checking in on our very duck-friendly workplace.

And then there came a week when our ducks began to disappear. The first day was filled with questions as to why and how so many ducks were missing. The second day brought suspicions of a culprit outside our department who had been seen wandering the warehouse adding things to her pockets - and that's the day the anger began to seep in. Where we'd been okay with ducks at times flying to new locations, this felt different. We tried to find rational reasons for our bitterness. The ducks being taken sneakily without a conversation felt like a deep disrespect. There had been by this point a significant monetary investment in the ducks, and for so many to be taken felt like property being stolen. The taking of the ducks without re-hiding them felt like a selfish act of hoarding joy that was meant to be shared. The funny thing is, though, I'd spent weeks dreaming that we could somehow spread the ducks further across the building - of giving people ducks to keep in their work spaces or hide for others to find. I just never imagined the grief I'd feel when spreading ducks elsewhere turned out to mean losing so many of the ducks who had surrounded me for weeks.

On the morning of the third day as I prepared to fill my pocket with a handful of ducks, I looked at them with a pit in my stomach; the disappearing duck act had robbed them of their joy. What was the point of placing ducks if they would all be gone in a matter of hours? But the day before Coworker Y had continually reminded the rest of us that if we stopped hiding ducks, we were just hoarding the joy as well, so I attempted to give myself a mental pep talk to continue the work of our ducks. Until I walked into my work area and discovered that all of the easily visible, easily reachable ducks had disappeared (the loss of Beyonce hit the hardest). I held back tears as I began to share the news with my duck-hiding cohorts. Coworker Y continued to even keel vibe; so long as her first hidden duck remained, she felt she'd be okay. Coworker B was feeling calm about the situation, explaining that she had spoken with the duck gatherer that morning and learned that the plan was to fill a mug and then give them back. I tried to find my friends' level of calm but to no avail.

Coworker Y proceeded to hide her original duck from view as well as possible in order to protect it. This photo was taken from behind in a spot that is notably difficult to stand in.

I was somewhat selfishly grateful that when I finally tracked down Coworker R that morning, I discovered that we were on the same struggle bus of anger and bitterness and sadness. She'd learned the same information as Coworker B had about the duck gatherer, and had also discovered that another of our department members who had enjoyed the ducks but not been core to helping hide them was pointing out duck locations to the duck gatherer to be able to take more, encouraging the gatherer to search in common hiding places like our personal work supplies. As we processed our unexpectedly heavy emotions around the duck loss together (though through spaced out bits of conversation broken up by the putting-out-of-fires type of morning our department was having that day to boot), it finally occurred to me the source of my feelings - without the ducks to be a distraction as a physical presence of joy, all of the emotions of what had been a notably difficult preceding few months (and more, as it turns out, as we had only in recent weeks begun to discover older work wounds we hadn't before realized we'd been carrying) suddenly came crashing in all at once. Because through a season where we unexpectedly went from two supervisors in the building to none in the building, where we'd been short-staffed through one of our busiest stretches of the year, and where we'd faced all the growing pains of the continuous transitional periods created by those circumstances - the ducks had gotten us through. Because on a day that I was irrationally spiraling while trying to avoid being a burden who added to my work friends' loads, Coworker Y handed me my first duck to hide. Because when in the earliest days of stress Coworker R opted to cope by delving into her goofy side, she grabbed the earring-pierced piece of cardboard that had been sitting on one of my shelves for months, placed a duck behind the earring, proclaimed that the earring was a microphone and dubbed the duck "Beyonce." Because in the midst of a stretch of conflict and drama caused by shifting social hierarchies, Coworkers B & Y added a duck to the ceiling beam in my area and declared that it was there to spy on me while I insisted that they'd gifted me a watchduck to fend off drama. Because when Coworker S transferred to our department to help fill in the gaps of understaffing, she found welcome in ducks hidden specifically for her to find. Because when an unexpected conference order was added to my load in a week where I already didn't know how I was going to finish the number of conference orders already on my plate, Coworkers Y & B spent the time between receiving the news and starting our afternoon break hanging the Lovebirds from edge of the mezzanine. Because on so many days through so many occasions when members of our department were being weighed down by the enormity and/or longevity of our circumstance, and there was nothing we could do to help them, the sharing of ducks was often all we had to offer, and somehow it had been enough. Over time, we had amassed for ourselves an army of tiny rubber duck patronuses, and in their absence, the dementors were given free reign to pounce in an attack that was swift and consuming.

As Coworker R and I attempted to process together why we were being hit so hard by the loss of ducks, Coworker L took a moment to pull us aside, trying to be the voice of reason and calm, sharing the same story we already knew of the duck gatherer and trying to help us see that when fun activities spread beyond their original circle, those who are new may change the rules, and with ducks set to be eventually returned and no harm done, we could let the duck gatherer have her fun while still remembering the joy that the ducks had brought us even if they were no longer physically present. And where everything he said was rational and fair and exactly what a great interim supervisor ought to say, I also shared my own realization of how my feelings (and admittedly tears) of the morning were less about the ducks themselves and more about how in their absence all of the emotions of the preceding months had come crashing in - and I watched my words hit him like a blow as his face sank. He offered to intervene with the duck gatherer, but I in my strivings (and often failings) of late to be a less petty, bitter person turned down his offer. Not long after our conversation ended, Coworker L pulled me aside once more and informed me that he had on good authority that an army of tiny ducks (nearly 1,000 total) were slated to arrive at his house that evening. That we were going to take on the Russian war philosophy of "We have more men than they have bullets" and continually replace any ducks that went missing. I later learned that when Coworker S expressed her sadness at all the ducks that had disappeared from her work area, Coworker L sacrificed the ducks left in his office after the duck gatherer's harvest so that Coworker S could add joy back to her workspace. And after weeks of being a supportive observer, Co-worker L joined the rest of us in our unspoken philosophy of caring for each other by offering ducks.

The photo Coworker L sent us on a Wednesday night after the arrival of his duck army order - 960 ducks in total

The text I sent 2 days later at the end of the work day

In case you're wondering, it takes approximately 3 work weeks to hide/distribute 480 ducks. And the only reason it took that long is because I realized I needed to show more restraint after nearly emptying the first bag in just 2 days.

The buddy system didn't save the first three ducks to find their home at this tree's base, but I hoped that it might the second time (plus then the tree wasn't lonely and neither were the ducks).

Three ducks to replace the one that had been harvested from this spot.

Another 3-duck replacement in hopes that at least one would remain in the end.

Yes, that's 4 ducks resting atop a 3-page packet. Coworker Y has a talent.

It's possible that I intentionally opted to take Coworker L's "every time the ducks go missing, replace them with more" far too literally and started replacing any ducks that Coworker R removed from her belongings with more than were there the last time, resulting in this particular text.

Coworker Y keeps saying that she's not quite sure why it was ducks. I've often chuckled to myself that it's appropriate given that our department's delivery doorbell is a quacking duck that sounds across the warehouse. But at some point it dawned on me the even more appropriate but unintended symbolism of it all. On stressful days we've been known to refer to the duck analogy - calm on top while paddling like crazy under the water's surface to stay afloat. And in these past few months of crazy workloads, continual transition, periods of grinding on each other's nerves, and the processing and healing of old wounds we didn't even know we had until recently, we've all taken turns being ducks for each other - because sometimes having just one person who takes on the persona of the calm in the storm is enough to get everyone else through. Some days it looks like being the person who remains outwardly calm and focused while taking on what feels like an impossible task. Other days it's taking on a new task or role so that someone else doesn't have to add one more thing to an already overflowing plate. Sometimes it looks like being the listening ear when logistics and/or communication fall apart. And yet other times it looks like offering a handful of ducks to (or hiding ducks specifically for) someone who feels like they're going to lose their mind in the stress because having duck surprises or ducks to find homes for brings a surprising amount of levity to your day.

The day our CEO first wandered into my work area investigating the ducks, he asked me if there was any reason or meaning behind them. I responded that they were just little day brighteners, and for most they continue to be just that. New duck hiding places continue to pop up. Pranks continue to be played. The ducks continue to be hidden to clear heads in times of loneliness, boredom, and/or stress -and with growing creativity. The paper balls and rubber bands that once flew through warehouse aisles and between the mezzanine and the floor are now often replaced by tiny ducks. The joy that we began has even spread as an unknown duck hider brought in a bunch of randomly-themed regular-sized rubber ducks and began adding them to the warehouse, inspiring the original duck hiders to acquire some regular-sized ducks as well. Workers on the office side of the building have begun to prank each other with ducks. And some new birds joined the crew. But for me, in a time I so often feel like I have little else to offer as the stress of what feels like a never-ending transitional period stretches on, I continue to offer ducks. Sometimes passing along handfuls for someone to hide. Other times hiding them in places meant to bring a smile to someone who seems like they need it. And yet other times placing them strategically so that when their hiding place is moved they will be sent flying - because on some days you need a reason to laugh to keep you from crying. Then from time to time, when I'm having notably bad days, my coworkers return the gesture. And somehow, little by little, the ducks keep carrying us through.

My favorite spot to deposit ducks on the office end of the building.

The duck that Coworker Y deposited on one of our VP's office door hinges that has continued to reside there for months at this point

On a day that I was in a weird mood, I decided that Coworker J's desk buddies each needed a pet duck.

Coworker R has an affinity for finding everyday items in the department that make the ducks look like they're swimming in a pond.

Just a couple of ducks taking a ride on the pulled-up cord of one of our hanging outlets.

One afternoon, I looked at all the locks on the lockers and thought "You get a duck! And you get a duck! And YOU get a duck!" (a la Oprah), and in the process discovered that Coworker Y's lock fit two ducks.

From what I recall, Coworker B earned this duck taped to her back by way of continually throwing ducks at Coworker Y that morning.

At some point, one of the warehouse guys discovered Coworker B's secret duck stash and used it to leave this gift on her chair.

As it turns out, it's pretty easy to tuck ducks in between layers of a bubble wrap roll. Coworker Y continued discovering ducks for days as she ripped bubble to pack orders.

Coworker Y is sometimes forgetful at the end of the day and leaves her cart down in my area if she's been helping me with a project. So I, being the decent person that I am, bring it back down to her work area before I leave. With plenty of ducks taped to it, of course. (This time she was lucky; they're usually much less visible.)

On a day that we were feeling punchy, Coworker R and I deposited a hammock of ducks in Coworker B's desk drawer (built to flatten and send said ducks flying when the drawer was opened). Coworker B left this lovely surprise in Coworker R's locker in retribution (though Coworker R sent no ducks flying because she's been duck pranked enough times to nearly always remember to be cautious.

I once made the mistake of heavily pranking Coworker R's tape gun only to realize I needed to borrow said tape gun and that I'd really only pranked myself. My second mistake was telling Coworker R that story, resulting in this scene awaiting me on my cart the next morning.

Coworker Y calls these dopamine ducks. She got bored doing a repetitive task, so she took a few minutes to create this arrangement on a pallet jack to find the motivation to work again.

Sometimes Coworker Y's dopamine ducks are hand drawn.

I don't recall how many of Coworker Y's dopamine ducks were dropped from the mezzanine to this bin below. I just remember that it was more than a pocket full. Most of which wound up in her primary work area (like the bubble wrap roll pictured a few rows above this).

When Coworker Y gets really bored, she starts including messages on the ducks that she drops and releases them as one of the other primary duck hiders walks by.

I don't remember which tedious task Coworker B was avoiding on this particular day, but she set the record for ducks in a single stack at 4.

On a day that was slow, Coworker J spent some time decorating ducks to match playing card suits - so I displayed them on one of the decks of cards that my primary customer has in their inventory.

When this duck appeared in my work area, I knew exactly where it needed to find its more permanent home.

Another duck I deliberately moved to a new home, but for more subtle reasons.

The yellow duck was one of our originals and came to nest permanently in the printer paper box on declaration of Coworker R. When the pig duck showed up, I added it to the box. When Coworker L discovered it there, he dubbed said duck "Breakfast" because it provides both bacon and eggs. The yellow one was later named "Marvin." As you can see, they have many children.

The display of a collection of some of our larger ducks (some deposited in our work area, others that Coworker Y won from a duck claw machine). Coworker Y used one of the picker forklifts to bring them up to the I-beam at the edge of the mezzanine.

Coworker J's large duck friend and its colorfully-decorated small duck friend.

Coworker R's book duck holding story time for the many tiny ducks that had been left for her that day

When my dad's longtime work friend who works in a department far from most of the ducks expressed his sadness that there were few to no ducks on his end of the building, my dad ducked his friend's cube - including this well-camouflaged duck.

The trick to this particular duck is that there's usually a jacket hanging from the hook above it.

And then my dad and his friend ducked the office of the person who first helped duck his friend's office.

Another of my dad's longtime coworkers has had multiple people adding to a long row of ducks along her cube wall. She loves it, often declaring "It's the one place I have all my ducks in a row!"

Coincidentally, my favorite pro slimer bought 1200 tiny ducks at the same time my friends and I were really getting going on our duck-hiding shenanigans, so I asked for a duck-themed slime for one of my monthly customs. If you notice, she added an extra non-duck friend as well...

...and that's how we wound up with 100 tiny flamingos.

Some flamingos have been well-hidden to prevent theft.

Others are hidden as close to ceiling-level as possible

Many flamingos have found duck friends to hang out with.

When we wound up with our first accidentally-beheaded flamingo and another accidentally-beheaded duck, we created a couple of Frankenduckmingos - who are far cuter than they deserve to be.

Of course Coworker L's office had to get a couple of flamingos.

And my dad decided that his car-loving friend needed one with a duck and a flamingo inside.

I intentionally hid a duck in one of the conference order products for someone to find when we hit the stress of working on a bigger order.

On a day that Coworker R was feeling stressed, I left her this duck gift in her locker.

When your favorite quack enabler has a milestone birthday, the obvious response is to get him a duck army in his favorite color and matching the number of his age.

And come in early to duck his office with said duck army.

During the stress of dealing with a weird product issue, Coworker S left me this gift in a load she brought down from the upstairs returns.

After one difficult day, I found this cutely decorated duck the next morning, a gift from Coworker J.

And on a recent day that threatened to fully break me, one of my work friends left me this gift to discover at the end of the day.

More recently, we've gained one more duck friend. His name is Fezzik (brownie points to anyone who can identify his namesake), and Coworker R rescued him from the clutches of an alien at a truck stop in Iowa. He made his grand entrance when Coworker L dropped him from the mezzanine for Coworker R to catch during our first morning break after Coworker R adopted him. I never knew I could have so much love for a duck. Not only is he the absolute cutest but he also makes for a great companion on days that are mind-numbing, lonely, and/or overwhelming - plus bonus points for huggability. He's great at finding his way to whomever needs him the most on any given day, usually aided by whichever of us humans helps him fly in that direction. I can't speak for sure for the rest of my duck-hiding friends, but to me Fezzik, like the tiny ducks before him is a reminder that, especially on the tough days (of which I've had far too many in recent weeks), I am surrounded by some pretty incredible human ducks who are always there to help me stay afloat

I wasn't kidding when I said that Fezzik was rescued from the clutches of an alien.

A very happy rescued Fezzik on his way to his forever home

Fezzik's first warehouse nest

Fezzik keeping me company on a very lonely afternoon of pre-counting product ahead of inventory

After a couple of duck-napping close calls, we became more responsible pet owners who chipped Fezzik - but we also got better at finding him well-hidden nests for times that we're not in the warehouse

On a Friday that Coworker Y had too much on her mind, she left Fezzik without a nest and also left her sweatshirt behind - so Fezzik stole her sweatshirt and found his own nest for the weekend.

Fezzik and the brute squad (IYKYK)

On a day that our loopy-ness perhaps rubbed off on Fezzik, he couldn't decide whether he wanted to go with an 80s exercise icon look or a dapper duck look - so he decided to wear both.

And, of course, Fezzik supervised the sorting through of photos to fill this blog post. (Because for as many - potentially excessive - photos as there are in this post, there are literally hundreds more sitting in a folder on my computer collected over the last few months.)