I’m in the thick of a nostalgia-trip.
In 20 days, I’ll be moving to the west coast to begin a new chapter of my life. I’ll be leaving behind sunny, hot-as-hell Texas and all its glory: afternoons spent reading at my favorite hookah cafe, nights spent around drinks with childhood friends who know me far too well, memories of dates (good and bad), first kisses, heat-filled looks exchanged between two “friends”, chili cheese fries at that place we would go to as kids, going to the movies in the middle of the day just because I could, all the damn good food.
I’ll be starting a life away from all my loved ones, loved places, loved things. I’m throwing myself into discomfort. I despise it, and love it, and want to drag my feet and run with abandon all at the same time.
I’ve been spending my days saying goodbye to everything, not taking for granted the places I’ve carved my name into and those that have carved their names into my heart. I have twenty days to say my farewells. It seems too little time to do it all. But I’ll try my hardest to do the hardest.
I used to be so excited to leave my dreary life behind, but I miscategorized. It wasn’t dreary, it was homey, it wasn’t boring, it was my ritual, it made me who I am. And now I’ll be going somewhere that’s unmarked with me. I’ll take my time creating a new ritual, with new people and places. I’ll carve my name slowly into the Bay Area. My silent prayer is that I fall in love with this new life and never look back. I’d loathe the alternative. To leave home is one struggle, but to struggle to live happily in your new home, knowing sure happiness is states away, is a small hell.
Here’s to new chapters, nostalgia, and the butterflies they give us.