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
