I’m independent, y’all.
Having lived most of my 37 years without a live-in partner of any kind (apologies to my college roomies, but ours was a different relationship), I am usually totally equipped to handle big life changes, because, after all, I’ve been the one who talks myself through most of them. My parents, my brother, my friends: they have been amazing support to me, but at the end of the day, I have to come back to my solitary home and reconcile my life with no one but myself (and occasionally my dog, but really, she just wants to go for a walk no matter how I’m feeling).
I get through stuff by myself. I just do. I’m not sure those who don’t can understand it. It’s one of the things that single gals feel some pride in. We handle stuff. A spider needs killing, we stomp the hell out of it. Nightmares? We wake ourselves up and lie awake staring at the ceiling until sleep comes back. Broken garbage disposal? Hand us a manual and an appropriate tool, and it’s done. We are strong, we are fierce: we have no problem with an empty house welcoming us home.
So I’m not sure why this one is so hard. But jeez. I’m a bit of a mess over here, and making the mistake of blogging about it before getting a good night’s sleep. Surely I’m breaking some blogging rule, but whatever.
I’m saying goodbye to Arkansas after 8 years. It’s time. I’m ready. I’m ready to go. I’ve been ready for a few years, if I’m honest.
And yet, it hurts. Dammit. It really does. Even as I thrill to knowing what I will be going to in Boston, I drive through my streets in Fayetteville and I want to cry. In fact, I do. It happens mostly when I think of the incredible, smart, kind and wonderful kiddos I have watched grow up, or when I’m hugging the neck of a friend who, even though our paths have crossed only a few times, has made my life immeasurably richer. Or when one of those incredible people who made my life full do what they always do; help me, laugh with me, be there for me. Dozens of people gave up their time tonight to come have a beer and hang out. I didn’t cry there…not really. Back here in my echoing house…well…luckily that’s just for me and the pooch to know.
So how am I supposed to deal with leaving a place after 8 years? How do I do it? How do I say goodbye to people who are good, kind, fun and above all, my friends?
I don’t know. I guess I just have to do it. And carry all those good wishes, hugs, and “we’ll come visits” close to my heart. I don’t know any other way to handle this, really. Tears are inevitable when such amazing people and experiences are part of life.