Farewell Transmission

I'm feeling now, now that a real plane ride is less than 24 hours away, the weight and mass of this year behind me. I don't understand it, I think I want to get away from it, but its significance pulls me back, makes me afraid of going ahead and leaving when there's still so much more to figure out and to mull over and to appreciate.

When I left home last Christmas, I felt decidedly like I was starting a climb up a huge intimidating mountain, like I couldn't see the top and couldn't know what to expect along the way. I climbed all year and now I'm at the summit, and it's a cliff. Tomorrow I have to jump off. The year ahead looks so bright and airy and open that it's dazzling me; I'm feeling blinded and I can't look right at it. I want to go back down the way I came, to wind down and give myself time to readdress all the things that scared me on the way up, to check out the little spots that I missed, to relive my favorite parts again. The only way to go from here is forward and while it excites and exhilarates me, while I've anticipated reaching this point for so long, now that I'm actually here, with my toes at the edge, I'm scared. The excitement is still there, but I feel like I need a little push.

I suck at endings, and with so many mixed emotions vying for attention these last three days I couldn't even begin to say anything here that sums up what this experience of leaving is like. Luckily, someone else already did, so to close this blog I'll steal her words, which have been swirling around in my head for the last month or so, and giving me peace of mind that I can't seem to find anywhere else.

You are afraid that you might forget, but you never will. You will forgive and remember. Think of the vine that curls from the small square plot that was once my heart. That is the only marker you need. Move on. Walk forward into the light.