We're not in Virginia yet, but we're not totally here, either. Our house is packed and our schedule is set for the next three weeks. It feels like we're swarming, attacking each day with lists and plans and barely remembering to breathe. If you told me it was June or October, I'd believe you either way.
I want to remember this season well. It's somewhat chaotic and a little scary, but there's something about it that feels so special. We're savoring our days in Atlanta, but dreaming big dreams for what's to come.
It feels like we're on the edge of something. The moment right before you're brave enough to jump, when you can barely feel your feet on the ground anymore, but the adrenaline hasn't kicked in yet. Seasons like this, which are full of chaos and emotion, always give me the sense that someone has taken my normal emotional state and turned up the volume. Everything is closer, louder, more real. More big laughs, more big tears.
I had a glass of wine with my friend, Megan, last weekend. She wanted to buy my drink, since it might be one of the last times she gets to do it, she said. I burst into tears.
Simultaneously, my parents are moving from Indiana for the first time in their lives. It has been incredible to share this season of big change (and big feelings) with them. Our transitions are aligned, as they say goodbye to years of memories, friendships and the (incredible!) state of Indiana. I'm home this weekend for my cousin's wedding and feel so grateful to have the chance to say goodbye to the state myself.
As we straddle both homes, I'm reminded again and again that goodbyes are never easy. Even when you're excited for what is to come, not being able to see the warm faces of people you love leaves an ache that can sometimes feel unbearable. Facetime is great, but when you can't hug someone, smell them, have impromptu after-work walks...
I believe, fully, that one of the worst parts of adulthood is having people you love scattered across the country. I find myself constantly wrestling with this truth, the unfairness of it, as if I'm the only one dealing with its reality. If I had a superpower, it would to create a perfect neighborhood, where everyone I love could find jobs, affordably build homes and, of course, bring along the people they love, too. There'd be room for everyone and yet, we'd all be within arms' reach.
Is that so much to ask?
This weekend, as I bid farewell to Indiana, it will be the beginning of a series of difficult goodbyes. It will also be the start of something so exciting and, as always, I'm reminded that not everything is black or white. This journey is sad and exciting. Hard and beautiful. The end of an era and the start of a new chapter.