First it was a beloved apartment all my own, then it was friends and family while I enjoyed a month long work-action in New York, then New York itself, most recently the longer days of summer, and now I'm left with a mouth/heart full of yet another goodbye: 'Goodbye childhood home.' I pray quietly to myself that I am accurate in my belief regarding loss; it seems in the face of so much change, and not always welcome, necessary, or sought after change, one must decide that forward movement of any kind will inevitably lead to a better kind of magic. It has, however, called into question the necessity of the 'goodbye.' How do we honor the gift of progress while sating our grief over attachments in the past? Listening. Careful, quiet listening.
I've felt antsy about making use of my final days of summer, and so, as tribute, managed to kidnap a couple of dear lady friends and adventure to a new beach. We traveled just a touch south of the city to Saltwater State Park. It was revitalizing to nest in a tiny cove of beached driftwood, feel the Indian summer sun on my fading tan, drown out thoughts of worry, and untied endings, and unbegun beginnings in the soft Pacific surf.
I am learning, slowly but surely, to follow my instincts. To listen to the voice that some days tells me it is vital to find the ocean. To respond to the requests for grieving when loss is necessary in order to make room. To still myself long enough to remember who I am and who I still wish to become. Goodbye past. Goodbye summer. Goodbye home.