Too many thoughts keep competing for space in my head. It is as though I am shattered into tiny pieces - one piece worrying about work, another worrying about a place to live, another concerned about the drive to South Carolina, and another concerned about how the dogs will do, a piece for finishing work here, a piece for saying goodbye, a piece for Adam, a piece for each member of my family, a piece for selling the house, a piece for each friend, piece, piece, piece, until I feel like there are no pieces left. No pieces for me.
Yesterday, as my sister dropped me off from our customary pre-school pick-up and Pepsi (yes, we are VERY into alliteration), I teared up as I thought about saying goodbye, and that I had a limited number of chances to do it again before I left. For good. Not for a year. Not for school. Not for a mission. For good. You know, the thing I've always wanted to do since I was four? Anyway, I choked back the tears. I reeled it in.
I learned something. I can control when I cry now. I didn't used to be able to do this. If you had told 14-year-old me that I would learn how to do this, she would have thought it akin to a super-power. But with that control there is a cost. The emotions come bursting out in different and sometimes ugly ways. So I realized, it's ok to cry. It's dialectic really. I can be tremendously thrilled about leaving, and completely heartbroken at the same time.
I made a rule for myself, if I have feelings, I am going to feel them. In the moment. Even if that means I cry at work, sobeit (I cried five times today, three times at work--I'm a rules and regulations kind of girl, so if I make rules, I stick to them).
Because really, how does one say goodbye to her home of 31+ years? Piece by piece, I suppose.
Yesterday, as my sister dropped me off from our customary pre-school pick-up and Pepsi (yes, we are VERY into alliteration), I teared up as I thought about saying goodbye, and that I had a limited number of chances to do it again before I left. For good. Not for a year. Not for school. Not for a mission. For good. You know, the thing I've always wanted to do since I was four? Anyway, I choked back the tears. I reeled it in.
I learned something. I can control when I cry now. I didn't used to be able to do this. If you had told 14-year-old me that I would learn how to do this, she would have thought it akin to a super-power. But with that control there is a cost. The emotions come bursting out in different and sometimes ugly ways. So I realized, it's ok to cry. It's dialectic really. I can be tremendously thrilled about leaving, and completely heartbroken at the same time.
I made a rule for myself, if I have feelings, I am going to feel them. In the moment. Even if that means I cry at work, sobeit (I cried five times today, three times at work--I'm a rules and regulations kind of girl, so if I make rules, I stick to them).
Because really, how does one say goodbye to her home of 31+ years? Piece by piece, I suppose.
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