The Waiting is the Hardest Part...

I was saying goodbye to my 3 1/2 year old niece on Sunday and when I told her I would see her three weeks she said: "Aunty that is too long."

I had forgotten how our perception of time changes. When we are young we are always in a rush to get to the next thing, or at least I was, and then as I got older, I tried to focus more on where I was right now, even as time pushed me forward into the unknown. Now as I face down turning 30, all the while waiting to hear about where I will be moving on June 1st, I feel like a kid again. Like time won't move fast enough, that having to wait two whole weeks to hear something feels like an eternity. And yet June 1st represents such an ending, such a change that I am also trying to hold onto time. Capture each walk home, each glimpse of the city, each night out with friends, each moment dancing with my niece, each moment laughing with my husband and hold onto it.

By the time I see her again I will have to tell her I am leaving. Tell her it will be awhile until she sees me again. I will promise to write her letters and send her presents and only love her more each day. But it won't be the same ever again, and even at 3 1/2 she will know that. And it breaks my heart all over again.

Fun in the Suburbs

Took a trip to West Bridgewater last night. Even the people there from other suburbs called it "the stix". A friend of mine's brother plays in a great cover band called Road Soda and they played at the Charlie Horse. We had a great time, good music, good friends. It had been a while since I had been a live show and I forgot how much fun they can be.

It was a treat to get out of the city and try to put everything behind me, even if it was just for a night. I havn't told people I am leaving yet, so as everyone talks about plans for the summer and stuff that is coming up it all feels very phoney. It sometimes feels like a lot of work to be around people.

Leaving Defined

The word itself has been making me think. Leaving. Merriam Webster tells me it is from
Old High German "verleiben" to leave and Old English "belīfan" to be left over. They both feel right.

Leaving means both departing and remaining. When words have multiple means we usually take the one closest to what we meant and stick with that. But this time I am embracing both definitions. I am leaving but part of me will be left behind. The contradiction of the word feels appropriate this time.

Leaving New England

I have lived here all my life. Grew up in Maine, moved the Boston for college in 96' and never left. Every year there is at least one day in the middle of the winter when I think "this is my last winter in Boston." I can not imagine spending one more frozen, dirty, angry winter here. But it is home. And so it is with great trepidation, fear, hesitancy and heartbreak that I have decided to leave. Destination TBD, but I know it will be somewhere warm, even though I hate the heat almost as much as I hate the cold.

Since deciding the leave I have found myself enjoying winter more this year. Walking the streets of Beacon Hill and really noticing what a unique and amazing neighborhood it is. How snow clings to the gas lanterns and kids and dogs and college students and adults all seem to come together to tie red bows around trees for the holiday season and go sledding and skating on the Boston Common. Time goes by so fast and now as the winter skies turn to a hopeful spring, the decision to leave has become all the more real. A countdown has been set. It is time to start packing bags, wrapping plates and mugs to protect them during the long journey, and take stock in what I am leaving behind - because as usually it is far more then hard winters.