I knew this day would come
I've just finished saying my goodbyes. This is one of those instances in which the human ability to linguistically communicate shows its limits. What I am saying is that it is very difficult to put into words the things that I am feeling.
I could attempt to rationally analyze the emotional processes my brain is undertaking, but that would somehow shortchange the truth of the matter. I could launch into my usual romanticized flair about the nature of leavetakings and the necessity of change in a story, and how transitions are adventures-- but I've done all that before, and the more I do it the more it simply seems artificial.
This is the first time I've had to leave a place without being really ready to let it go.
The people I've met this year are wonderful, they have shaped me and helped me realize things about myself and my perspective on life. I am a better human being for having met them. It pains me unspeakably to think that they will be so far away, and that having them be a part of my story will be so difficult. I wish them all the best, and I truly hope that our paths cross again.
I feel as though I am jumping through a wall of fire, and that when I arrive home I will taste the cool sweet air and be safe-- but the burns will remain, and a part of me will always be here in Exeter with the wonderful people I've connected with over the last several months. I am trying to look to the future, because the future for me has always held promise and happiness, but here in my empty dorm room with my entire life packed into suitcases it is a little difficult not to think about the life I am leaving behind.
I repeat things to myself: Life is an adventure. As long as I have myself, as long as I am myself, that adventure will continue. I am leaving friends but also returning to them. We are never far apart as long as our hearts remember each other.
There, again, needless romanticism. It just sort of slips out, I suppose, and I haven't the heart to delete it.
It has been a wonderful year, and I hope that there are many more like it before this tired body of mine finally runs down.
Metaphors are the only things that seem able to capture what I am feeling-- I seem to be poised at the edge of a cliff, about to leap into oblivion. I know that's unnecessarily dramatic, but right now, at the impetus of change, at the moment before the cogs begin to creak into motion and this enormous transition begins to occur, I want nothing more than for the whole thing to be over-- I want to feel safe, home, in the arms of someone who represents constancy and reassurance.
In a little more than twenty-four hours, I will step out of David's car onto the faded gravel of my parents' driveway, wearing my bowler derby, exhausted from nearly a full day's travel. At that moment, when the rubber of my sole touches ground, one adventure will have drawn fully to a close and another will begin.
Anybody who would like to be part of that beginning is more than welcome to come join me. I think... I think it could be the start of something even more amazing than what I am leaving tonight.
I could attempt to rationally analyze the emotional processes my brain is undertaking, but that would somehow shortchange the truth of the matter. I could launch into my usual romanticized flair about the nature of leavetakings and the necessity of change in a story, and how transitions are adventures-- but I've done all that before, and the more I do it the more it simply seems artificial.
This is the first time I've had to leave a place without being really ready to let it go.
The people I've met this year are wonderful, they have shaped me and helped me realize things about myself and my perspective on life. I am a better human being for having met them. It pains me unspeakably to think that they will be so far away, and that having them be a part of my story will be so difficult. I wish them all the best, and I truly hope that our paths cross again.
I feel as though I am jumping through a wall of fire, and that when I arrive home I will taste the cool sweet air and be safe-- but the burns will remain, and a part of me will always be here in Exeter with the wonderful people I've connected with over the last several months. I am trying to look to the future, because the future for me has always held promise and happiness, but here in my empty dorm room with my entire life packed into suitcases it is a little difficult not to think about the life I am leaving behind.
I repeat things to myself: Life is an adventure. As long as I have myself, as long as I am myself, that adventure will continue. I am leaving friends but also returning to them. We are never far apart as long as our hearts remember each other.
There, again, needless romanticism. It just sort of slips out, I suppose, and I haven't the heart to delete it.
It has been a wonderful year, and I hope that there are many more like it before this tired body of mine finally runs down.
Metaphors are the only things that seem able to capture what I am feeling-- I seem to be poised at the edge of a cliff, about to leap into oblivion. I know that's unnecessarily dramatic, but right now, at the impetus of change, at the moment before the cogs begin to creak into motion and this enormous transition begins to occur, I want nothing more than for the whole thing to be over-- I want to feel safe, home, in the arms of someone who represents constancy and reassurance.
In a little more than twenty-four hours, I will step out of David's car onto the faded gravel of my parents' driveway, wearing my bowler derby, exhausted from nearly a full day's travel. At that moment, when the rubber of my sole touches ground, one adventure will have drawn fully to a close and another will begin.
Anybody who would like to be part of that beginning is more than welcome to come join me. I think... I think it could be the start of something even more amazing than what I am leaving tonight.
posted by Nate at 5:46 PM
3 Comments:
I'm sorry you're so sad to leave. Goodbyes have never been my strong suit, either, and the older I get, the more I seem to say them.
But, I am glad you are coming home. I've really missed you this year.
I'm glad you're home Nate. that was one of the most touching things I've read.
In a way, reading of all your goings on in the UK made me feel like a part of me was still there. we should find a pub and get a drink sometime.
oh my god, please become a writer.
also, isn't it a bizarre feeling? having your entire life packed in boxes? it's so sad but it also makes me a little proud. like, look, I can fit all of my things into these boxes. but now my walls are bear. I'm torn!
I miss you!
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