The last several days, I have experienced mind to severe what-have-I-done syndrome, as I fit my (what I thought were) few remaining possessions into my car; as I leave my beloved houseplants in the hands of my brother; as I brunch with friends for the last time until next time and sort of wish I could just keep doing what I know; as my coworkers throw me a going away party and I feel more warm and loved and appreciated than I have in a hell of a long time and I just want to CLING to that feeling; as I drive down a familiar stretch of interstate One Last Time and think about how, the next time I drive down it (if there is such a time), I will be the stranger; as ex-boyfriends come out of the woodworks to question my plans and motivations; as the farms I want to wwoof on have delayed to no responses; as my mother goodheartedly takes me to the grocery store and stocks my car with canned goods, and I have a moderate panic attack because it's so very anti zero waste.
(Keep in mind that I am, laughably, writing this from a more or less familiar place.)
South Carolina is just a few hours south of my home state, the other Carolina. I've spent most, if not all, of my life coming down here to visit relatives, to hang at the beach, to get out of the North One because don't state lines just feel so claustrophobic.
I still feel close to where I've come from but also so far away.
I dug my heels in, metaphorically speaking, and protested and rallied against myself. I threw mind tantrums. I cried intermittently. But I got in my car, turned on my podcasts on, and left.
Am I proud of myself? Not yet. We'll see. I can say that I'm uncomfortable. I can also say that growth only ever occurs via various levels of discomfort.
I will leave you with a quote that I have been ruminating on for years, with advice I'd never once followed until now.
"Go, because you want to. Because wanting to leave is enough."
-Cheryl Strayed
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