As I’ve gotten older, it’s become increasingly important to me to capture (usually digital) relics of what I’ve been up to. Mostly for my own benefit, but it’s a good professional habit regardless.

Five years ago today I was part of a team launching a new website and associated automated phone system helping unemployment insurance claimants at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. I wish I’d done more to document our midnight release event, because it was a pivotal moment in my career. But I do have this one blurry screenshot:

This launch had a trifecta of positivity: a meaningful use case, cool technology, and (most importantly) it all actually worked! I’ve been doing this almost 25 years, and it’s rare to have all that come together. It made such an indelible memory that several of us have found ways to continue working together since.

(Obviously I didn’t get the memo about hoodies; instead opting for formalwear. No regrets on that one!)

We’re all pretty big Lord of the Rings fans in our house, both books and movies. A few months ago we rewatched Return of the King, and I was struck by a couple moments in the dénouement that are worth talking about.

The first is one I’ve loved for a while. The hobbits have returned to the Shire and are together enjoying some well-deserved ales. Their reflective mood is in stark contrast to the conviviality around them, in particular one fellow who is showing off a massive pumpkin he’s grown. Our heroes don’t seem to mind the attention he’s getting; they’re content to sit in silence, apart from the crowd, with nothing more than a toast and some knowing glances.

No one else in that pub understands the grave danger they, and the whole of Middle-earth, were in. No expressions of thanks will come to Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. But that’s okay. It’s how it’s supposed to be. Leaders make the sacrifices so that those in their care can enjoy their pumpkins, and they seek not the credit. Fellowship amongst a small circle of friends who know the story is enough.

But even within that circle, there’s layers to the levels of awareness. It wasn’t until this most recent viewing that I realized that only Sam knows the full story: that Frodo had fallen at the last to the power of the ring, and its destruction was only completed through earlier mercy shown to Gollum, and some luck.

What Sam chooses to do with this knowledge is worthy of especial praise. When the fellowship is reunited in Rivendell, joy and celebration surround Frodo. Even the wizard Gandalf smiles in approval. Sam is late to the party, but catches Frodo’s eye from across the room.

In that moment, I wonder if Frodo is briefly afraid that Sam will interrupt with a tale of how he had to carry Frodo the final stretch, and that Frodo essentially failed, claiming the ring as his own. It would be the truth. But Sam doesn’t do that, and his expression says he never will. It’s as if he said, “I know that you aren’t a perfect hero. That at the end you did things you’re not proud of, even to me. But you gave everything you had, and the job got done. That’s worth celebrating. Fear not, my friend. Some things are just between us.”

I’m not sure if this is canon, but I imagine no one else, not even Gandalf, ever learned what really went down on the slopes of Mount Doom. That too is okay, because Middle-earth survives regardless. And that’s what ultimately matters.