Remember when I was simply moving from the fourth grade to the fifth grade?
To be honest, me either. But now that I’m about one week out from The Big Move, I have come to the realization that I’m officially out of distractions. I had this feeling for a while, this ingrained gut feeling, where I assumed all of this was happening to someone else. That girl over there decided to move. That girl should probably start packing. That girl needs to stop spending time thinking about what book she wants to read next, and where she wants to eat lunch because she’s leaving. Or, I’m leaving. There we go, some responsibility is finally being taken.
It’s strange though. I spent the majority of my last semester of my undergrad thinking about this move, and now that it’s finally here I’ve somehow managed to push it away. I filed it away in this tiny, insignificant corner in my head. Regardless, it’s happening, and I’m still trying to process what that means.
There was a period of time where I was floating, drifting around in a space that felt neither tangible nor particularly empty. It was an in-between; a break in reality where a small piece of me managed to slip through into this place that was reminiscent of something more dream-like than anything else I’ve ever experienced: It was a Saturday morning on the patio of your favorite coffee shop, the smell of freshly made pastries wafting just under your nose, filling you up until you were warm, until your breathing was even and steady. It was your favorite book in hand, the pages crinkling beneath the pads of your fingers. It was the warmth of a memory that was slightly fictionalized. Quietly so. So quietly that you could convince yourself that place existed and you had been there countless times. Comfort – that was the interstice I had crawled into.
This was the problem. I often find myself slipping back into that comfort during transitional periods of my life. I hide in it until I’m in the new! place and then I crawl back out, bright-eyed and curious. Then, I transition elsewhere. This may or may not be one of the reasons I decided to start blogging. As my rather odd yoga instructor used to say “let your breath breathe you,” (you can call BS on that one, I get it) which I think now was an attempt to get everyone to channel the messiness of individual patterned thought to focus on nothing at all other than the experience of the moment, this moment. Or not. Yet, most of the time whenever he would say that phrase, I would be holding back a groan, so feel free to completely ignore it as is, but understand at least what I’m trying to get at here.
So I’m going to focus on these passing moments rather than letting them slip away until I find myself on a plane to a place very very far away. As the next week crawls by, as I make my way to that final departure date, I’m going to step away from the inevitable stress and sadness I’m holding, and simply be. What does that mean? I don’t have the slightest idea. It sounds pretty vague and eerily wise though, right? Like something your drunk aunt would say at Thanksgiving.
BUT! There are a few things that I do know, right at this passing moment (ha ha!):
1) I’m going to miss my family more than anything else when I leave.
2) I’m nervous.
3) I’m so incredibly excited.
[featured photo: graffiti park at castle hill, austin, tx]