I hate, repeat, HATE saying goodbye.
But an interesting thing happened this week. After every verbal farewell, I would go home and open text the person who I’d just seen. My phone overfloweth with Facebook posts and Snapchats. Though I’ve moved to a town where I have all of four real friends (and insanely amazing, powerful ladies they are) my text message alerts have maintained their frequency. I don’t have to wonder what things are like without me during orientation week because I’m constantly being updated. I almost feel like I never left. Almost.
My father likes to proclaim that, “The world is flat.” By this he means that technology makes the globe into a neighborhood, not that he casts aside modern cartography and clings to the disc-world ideals centuries gone by. But for the first time, I’m realizing just how true that statement is. It’s not really goodbye, not even “see ya later,” but instead something along the lines of “I’ll hear from ya tomorrow, once you’ve experienced something anecdotal!” And it’s lovely, sort of like relationship morphine. But morphine doesn’t actually make the pain go away, it just veils it from you. Your insides are still far from ok.
Well, my insides are pretty ok. Regardless of metaphorical drug use. Besides my head, actually, but that’s because it feels like my first real migraine up in there. But does the tech make up for saying goodbye? Not even close.
But, and this is the biggest but. Actually, let me...
saying goodbye is closing one door is opening another. For the first time in a very long time, I’m not just nervous about the future, about moving and setting up shop somewhere new. I’m excited. I’m itching to start on my for-real career path. I’m ready. Ready for all of it. Even ready to go on real dates with real men with real jobs. No worries though, that won’t be a topic that I discuss here. Except maybe to state that it’s a large part of my food budgeting, because that’s hella true.
But I’m ready. My feels are a little bit raw, but I’m ready. And now I get to turn this period into a “dot dot dot.”
. . .