I’m sad you’re not downstairs anymore. I don’t see the light on in your living room or your car in the driveway. I can’t shout “KStew!” Or knock on your door to borrow eggs or flax seed or invite you to coffee and the record store. I’ll probably dislike whoever moves in simply for not being you.
I think I have a better understanding of how G felt when I moved to Boston, without all the unrequited love and dishonesty. I’m afraid this is what life is like when you get older, your friends move away, get married, have less time for you. It’s a huge bummer.
You’re one of the few people I’ve met, especially female, that I felt is trying and that ultimately I believe is going to be okay. I’ve never invited anyone else to Thursdays, and I’m so glad it was beneficial to you. I believe in you, and not just in the way that I believe in Buckley’s ability to jump.
You’re super brave for moving. I relate with starting again in a new place, and I think it can be such a huge growth experience. There’s risk, and it’s emotional and scary and uncomfortable, but all of those things are just opportunities to know yourself better and you’re worth knowing.
I love you and I’m super grateful we met. I hope we’re always friends.
Leaving is hard. Have I emphasized that enough? I think I have. When you embrace a new life, you have to let the old one go. And that causes some intense emotion.
The night before I left (or so I thought would be), I took a walk. It was late, 10 or so, and I needed to get out of my apartment. It was stifling. Packing was off-schedule. There was too much to do in too little time, and I had underestimated it all.
Failure? Had I failed? I wasn’t prepared. I yelled at my mom. I’m not proud of that. She had flown up to New York to drive across the country with me. (I had recruited her for the task because two women traveling are safer than one woman traveling? Eh. Anyway.) She knew I was emotional and walked in between me and the door.
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