Apparently transition is one of the things that inspires me to write.
It’s as though there is a special class of feelings that I express more efficiently with an audience. Or maybe as an increasing number of people ask, “Are you ready for _____?” I’m inspired to craft some type of general press release that lets people peek behind the curtain at how it’s going.
No, I’m not ready for ________ . I’m not ready to pack up all my belongings after trimming them down as much as possible, making a hundred little decisions about what matters and what doesn’t. I’m not ready to hug all of my friends goodbye, or for the long list of “one lasts” that I want to cram in before I go. I’m not ready to close my front door and head to the airport, unsure if I’ll ever again set foot in this place I’ve called home and where I’ve made so many memories. It’s a good thing I don’t have to be ready for it yet, that I still have a couple months left before the actual moment.
But I wasn’t ready this week for the reality to come crashing down around me. For the nagging feeling in the back of my head that I might forget something, that there is an ever-growing list of things to do in the next few months that I don’t want to fall through the cracks. I’m not ready for the cold reality of a plane ticket I should buy before the prices go up.
As fatigue and numbness slowly slip away and tears leak through the dams I’ve tried to build around my heart something inside me says, “I don’t WANT to go.” As a sweet counselor put it so well when I was saying goodbye to D.C., my adventurous spirit and tender heart stand in a face-off once again. Half of me (or perhaps more than half) cries out at the injustice of it all. That it’s not fair for me to fall in love with somewhere and have to leave again. My brain intones that I have done this to myself, that if I never want to say goodbye, all I have to do is pick a place and stay put.
I started crying about this months ago, when I resolutely told myself it would be hard to leave because I have loved well, and so this was a good thing.
It’s not as easy as I stare down my computer with flight dates listed. I don’t want to pick a date. How about never.
It wasn’t the plan to stay forever, and I knew that coming in. Tomorrow is waiting. Good things are ahead. I know one day I will be happy I walked through this. That from the sunny days of the future I will look back at these clouds with fondness. There are great treasures waiting that I can’t discover from where I’m standing now.
I’m not chopping anything down. I’m digging deep and carefully around tender roots, extracting the tree so it can be transplanted to another place and keep growing. It’s hard to be strong today. The leaves fall off as I struggle through the discomfort. Winter is coming, and everything starts to look like its dying.
I have weathered Winter before, and though I know it leaves its marks, both literally and figuratively, I know Spring comes again. Life is something that can’t be quenched, because the resurrection cries victory, even over loss and gray and pain.
So ask away as the days stream by, but know I may not have an answer that can appropriately blend the numbness and sadness and excitement (because through it all I am still excited). And if you’re one of those precious people who prays for me, pray that I find that tightrope between locking away the reality of what’s inside of me and being a giant puddle on the floor who can’t accomplish daily tasks.
I know it’s gonna be okay. This week I’m dealing with the realities of my life that I don’t feel ready for, and that’s okay too. And maybe this transition means you’ll get to hear more from me, so there’s a bright side.