On Saying Goodbye – A Review

I’ve always been a fan of historical periods. Their names are always quite clever, and reveal more information than they let on. The bronze age, for example. On the surface, it’s named that because humanity began smelting metals to create bronze. However, because bronze is a sturdier metal than copper (the previous period), it is named as such because civilization came to personify that sturdiness. It also marks the beginning of wide scale trading, literature, and the beginning of technology. These sociological landmarks were made discoverable by several historians noticing bronze existing in places it shouldn’t.

Lately, I’ve been finding myself leaning on categories that I curate to better understand my life. For example, 2016, for me is the year of mortality. 2017? The year of loss. And from the way 2018 is shaping up, it’s seeming more and more like it’s the year of “goodbyes.”

I’ve said goodbye to a lot this year. Friends, guilt, grief. I’ve closed the door on romantic feelings, on opportunities, and on my own business. Some of the stuff I said goodbye to out of necessity, out of heartache. Other things I’ve said goodbye to by accident. And somethings I said goodbye to were for the betterment of myself and the people around me. And of course, somethings just left.

I’m not tired of saying goodbye, but I’m finally coming to the realization that I don’t fully understand it. Even now, I wanted to say “but just because a door is closing, doesn’t mean it can’t reopen!” But for a lot of that stuff, that door is locked, sealed, and boarded up. It’s not meant to open again. The bridges have been burnt.

That might not seem like a good thing. But, trust me. It is. Sometimes, certain things need to leave for good. Not just to make things easier, but to stay sane.

I let a lot of things consume me, and if I didn’t stop them I would’ve been gone for good. Swallowed by a petty problem, overburdened by dead weight, encapsulated by fear. And that’s not right. So, they had to go.

But now. Now I’m saying goodbye to my hometown. I’m saying goodbye to my friends. I’m saying goodbye to my family. I’m saying goodbye to sunsets over Mount Palomar. To the streets I grew up running on. To the coffee shops, and the restaurants. To the rabbits and deer. To my dogs. Oh my god I am leaving my dogs.

It’s hard. But. I’ve done it before. Before, I knew it was temporary. Before there was always a way back home. Now? I don’t know what’s going to happen. Home might finally be somewhere else, and that’s scary.

But. I’ve always been one to step off the diving board with both feet. And sure, I might not always land that gracefully, but I always start with a sort of half-cocked confidence that lets me carry myself in my own way.

So, here I am, your outgoing-introvert. Your reluctant recluse. Your friend. Taking a step off the high-dive and into the cold waters below.

I’ll miss you. All of you. But this goodbye isn’t a permanent one. And it isn’t one that means anything except distance. I’m grateful that all of you made home so damn hard to leave.

Thank you.