Leaving

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again - leaving is the pits.  But sometimes, it’s the only way to get to where you’re going.  Become who you’re becoming.

My family has come to loathe airport goodbyes.  “Isn’t there some better way to do this?” we ask.  But alas, there is none.  I had a dry run last Sunday when we brought my sister to the airport so she could get to California for her senior year of college.  I held her hand the whole time, casting sideways glances down the ticketing counter towards the American Airlines, where I would be leaving in just one week...today.  Then, the sight of it made me want to throw up.  We cried, we prayed, and sent my little sister through security.  Watched her gather up her things, turn for one last wave goodbye, and then square her shoulders and walk confidently out into the great big world.  I used to love airports, they gave me butterflies of excitement in my stomach, but now they generally represent leaving, and the thought of leaving just makes me nauseous.

Today it was my turn.  JJ slept with me, but I only made it to bed for an hour before it was time to get up again.  And in that hour, he managed to steal all of my covers.  Thanks bro.  When  I woke up, the first thing I thought was, “I’m moving to India today.  What the heck am I doing?”  

The airport was hard.  I got all checked in by 6:40am, but didn’t need to head through security for at least an hour.  So Mom, Dad, and I sat with teary eyes watching the kiss and fly lane, holding each other, crying, and having the sendoff prayer.  We were quite the hot mess, that’s for sure.  But if it’s hard to leave something, it is because of the depth of your love for what you are leaving.  I am thankful that I can say that yes, I love Minnesota.  I love my family.  I love my friends.  You are my home, my community, my roots.  And I am so thankful that I stuck around long enough to be reminded of that.  Thank you for sticking by me, for loving me, and for reminding me of who I am when I forget.

My tears trickled off when it was time to go through security.  I gave Mom and Dad one last hug, heaved my carry-ons onto my shoulders, and headed through the line.  And as I did so, my sadness was replaced with peace, confidence, and anticipation.  I hate leaving, but I know that - for right now - this is right.  I waved once again, and with 12 minutes til boarding headed towards Starbucks to pick up one last treat.  9 minutes to boarding.  I left Starbucks and, as I passed the security line, had a feeling they were still there.  So I rambled by and sure enough, Mom and Dad were still holding each other, looking for one last glimpse.  

I smiled, waved, blew a final kiss, and turned to face the world.

Leaving

In the life of every lover of adventure, there comes a time in which it is necessary to leave. Leaving is the pits.

As a good friend just pointed out to me, I have been leaving a lot recently. And in this case practice does not make perfect. Just because I leave a lot doesn’t mean (a) it has gotten any easier (b) I am good at it or (c) that I like it. Because neither a, b, or c are true.

For starters, saying goodbye is just awful. How in the world can one say everything that they want to say in just one hug – even two? – and an, “I am going to miss you”. (What does the word “miss” mean anyway? That one little word carries so much weight...)

I always end up calling people after I have said goodbye to them, or sending a text, attempting to awkwardly express even more how much a person means to me, what I wish I would have said, or thoughts that have come up as I have processed that fact that I am, indeed, leaving. Nope, I’m definitely not a pro at the leaving thing.

Finally, contrary to popular belief, I don’t’ like leaving. I hate it. I just hate it. When I was waiting in line at airport security, trying to regulate my breathing and stop the tears flooding down my cheeks, the magic words that I kept repeating to myself were “I have a return ticket. I have a return ticket. I have a return ticket.”

Because even though leaving sucks, it makes coming home that much sweeter. And thankfully, unlike John Denver, I know when I’ll be back again.

P.S. Sid, the dear who picked me up at the airport at 1:45am, greeted me with a hug and a “Welcome Home” so maybe, just maybe, this will become home too J