Leaving: A reflection on the night before
Leaving is harder this time around; I am somehow even more in love with my friends and family.
In the past, I've left like a tornado. Late nights of packing and re-packing, goodbye parties, a flurry of action. I've always thought myself talented at leaving but looking back, I can see that this belief stemmed from the ease and carelessness that constituted those periods of my life. I was less careful with my goodbyes; I doled them out numbly and indiscriminately. There was very little reflection and engagement with the sadness inside of me.
Now, I engage more deeply with the beautiful sadness that comes with leaving. A few days ago, I felt a familiar numbness wash over me as I ate dinner with a group of wonderful people who I love. I started to feel distant from myself and outside of my body. Instead of letting that numbness spread over me for days to come, I recognized it as sadness, let it in, and let myself cry and reach out to people the following day. I'm not always good at this but I'm learning to listen to and honor my emotions more.
At this point in my life, leaving feels like a study on life's transience. Don't get me wrong; it's also a frolic and adventure and a hundred amazing things. In fact, I've never been so excited about an opportunity; I've never felt so mentally prepared or intellectually curious. So, leaving is not a tragedy at all, and I don't mean to paint it that way. It's an opportunity to nod to the transience that is written into very cells and our lives and all our moments and say, "Yes, I recognize all of this as sacred." In liminal moments like these, I can see my life and my relationships with better vision; I can fully feel the sweet carefulness and love that goes into my connections with people at the same time that I can understand that none of it is static or eternal. The value of inhabiting Earth at the same time appreciates hugely over the years.
Whether I've had the opportunity to say goodbye to you in person, or over email, or on the phone, I hope you know you are important to me. I'm into writing emails as a way of keeping in touch and I'm also 38% better at phone calls than I used to be.
Love!
Ilse
In the past, I've left like a tornado. Late nights of packing and re-packing, goodbye parties, a flurry of action. I've always thought myself talented at leaving but looking back, I can see that this belief stemmed from the ease and carelessness that constituted those periods of my life. I was less careful with my goodbyes; I doled them out numbly and indiscriminately. There was very little reflection and engagement with the sadness inside of me.
Now, I engage more deeply with the beautiful sadness that comes with leaving. A few days ago, I felt a familiar numbness wash over me as I ate dinner with a group of wonderful people who I love. I started to feel distant from myself and outside of my body. Instead of letting that numbness spread over me for days to come, I recognized it as sadness, let it in, and let myself cry and reach out to people the following day. I'm not always good at this but I'm learning to listen to and honor my emotions more.
At this point in my life, leaving feels like a study on life's transience. Don't get me wrong; it's also a frolic and adventure and a hundred amazing things. In fact, I've never been so excited about an opportunity; I've never felt so mentally prepared or intellectually curious. So, leaving is not a tragedy at all, and I don't mean to paint it that way. It's an opportunity to nod to the transience that is written into very cells and our lives and all our moments and say, "Yes, I recognize all of this as sacred." In liminal moments like these, I can see my life and my relationships with better vision; I can fully feel the sweet carefulness and love that goes into my connections with people at the same time that I can understand that none of it is static or eternal. The value of inhabiting Earth at the same time appreciates hugely over the years.
Whether I've had the opportunity to say goodbye to you in person, or over email, or on the phone, I hope you know you are important to me. I'm into writing emails as a way of keeping in touch and I'm also 38% better at phone calls than I used to be.
Love!
Ilse
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