Some say that the more “goodbyes” you say, the easier it gets. What foolish words we speak to ourselves, then, because they most certainly get tougher. With every goodbye we exchange, we lose a bit of the naiveté once harbored.
This realization is how I found myself crying into a glass of wine at open mic night last year, nestled into the corner of a Maine coffee shop as a fiddler played an upbeat song in the background. In truth, I was smiling and surrounded by friends, settled in a moment of true contentedness. It was just that the emotions of these thoughts, accumulated over 25 years, had finally caught up.
For the record, it was not a “who is this crazy, bawling fool, making the room feel awkward” kind of cry. Just a tearing up kind of cry…
Anyway. Looking back in our own histories, I think most of us at our youngest ages would tell one another in full sincerity that “we’d be best friends forever.” I fondly remember those goofy gold-plated broken heart necklaces, with “best” on one side and “friend” on the other, as a testament to this early belief. Maybe that was a girly thing though.
Later, when we nabbed our own set of car wheels, we guaranteed that we’d most definitely pay each other frequent visits.
Facetime, Facebook, Phones… all made our capabilities to stay in touch infinitely easier, but the actual actions of staying in touch take a concerted effort that we simply cannot do as much of as we’d like to do. Despite genuine intentions, the reality of remaining in consistent contact tends to be far harsher. More often than not, the typical progression is that we fall into a year or so of dwindling contact, an annual Christmas card, and a few check-ins on Facebook.
I am a far greater cynic than I used to be, but I don't intend to be depressing.
Visits with a few good friends and family members are my most cherished memories. There are some connections that stand the test of time, bar nothing. Meeting these people again is always a flood of contentment and compassion, where we remember how easy it is to be fully ourselves and alive with one another. Time can’t move slowly enough, for us to catch up and wreak havoc on the world once again as a team.
Even in these reunions, though, a bit of sadness always hits me. With many of my friendships, we’d at one time fallen into easy routines, where spending time together was the norm and not the occasion…when “see you later” meant see you in a few days, a few hours, or on our next adventure. It’s the difference from present to past that gets to me a little. I suppose that’s why all the yogi’s keep saying, “stay present.” Hrrumph.
This might just be a sad ode to my lack of yogi-ness and a recognition of my plain-old-humanness. I miss spending time with people I love with ease and on the day-to-day basis. This is not to say that there aren’t these dear people in my proximity now, because there absolutely are, but I just want to be around all of the people I love all of the time. Is that too much too ask? (I'm just kidding).
A simple visit with any of these folk is like coming home, if you will, but knowing you have to leave again soon. Especially for those military brats or current active duty members, sometimes home really was never a firm location of bricks and mortar anyhow.
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Then why do we lay roots, knowing the emotional consequences of uprooting?
In Maine, I’d found a place I belonged, in an environment and community I adored. These were “my people,” if you will. At 25-years, that was a pretty wonderful thing to discover, having lived in quite a few places previously (13 unique addresses, to be exact).
But then there I was, drinking wine and getting ready to up-and-leave again, a place I’d found myself all too often before. There was excitement for the next adventure, a readiness to leave certain raw things in the rearview mirror, and a piercing sadness to be leaving so much behind. Change and nothing ever going to plan are some of our few guarantees, I’m afraid.
Fortunately, I have found that the most important paths cross again. Usually intentionally, occasionally not. People return at often just the right time, helping us back onto our feet, or simply make our afternoons more pleasant. Either one is a pretty good deal! The efforts we do make to stay in touch do lead to something good, I think, whether it’s an occasional post-card/text, annual visit, or bi-yearly Skype-date.
A note on wanderlust: I think sometimes there is a wanderlust so insatiable, that even when we are dragging our heels into the earth to hold on a little longer, we know down deep that sometimes you just have to let go and move forward. To see the world and all that jazz.
On the flipside, I do think there are also times when we realize that we might just want to put up our feet and stay for awhile, and not live in a permanent state of transition for a season or two. It'd shake off some of that bittersweetness that's been chasing us for awhile.
Again, anyway. By far and away, relationships are of utmost importance to me, if not the most important. I can’t imagine a life with relationships that only ever go half-way, never quite reaching their fullest potential. We don’t have the capacity to be important to everybody, nor to feel as if everyone is important to us;* however, those few great relationships are the ones that form the most important structures of our life stories.
So to answer the question of “why lay the roots, when we know we’ll uproot anyway,” well, I think it comes down to simple physics. Every force has an equal and opposite reaction. The more you give, the more it hurts to leave. But is it worth it?
Hell yeah. I wouldn’t have it another way.
* I remember learning some odd-ball research/psych note that most humans are only capable of keeping 8-10 people in their closest social circle. It seems arbitrary, but also makes sense and makes me feel a little less bad about losing touch.
PS: last blog post, I think. GOODBYE, and thank you for reading.
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| Photo/Video CredL Julia Monahan |
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| Sunsets with friends. |
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| fleeting beauty |
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| feet beauty (JK). |
