Starting Over

I love words.

I wish I could breathe them in like air. Consume and digest them like food. Wrap them around me like my oldest, softest sweater.

But sometimes

They fail me.

Like for these past few weeks. While being showered in love and affection and food (of course), I have been speechless.

There is a feeling you get when packing up your entire life to move in the opposite direction of your darling mother, most beloved family, and friendships that you’ve only recently recognized the value of . And truthfully? I’ve been feeling a little miffed about it.

Because, it’s not like the movies. Hollywood: you lie.

In case you were wondering, it’s not all sweet freedom and independence and homemade cherry pie.

Its nausea. And fear. And salty-bitter sadness. And more tears than the average set of tear ducts can handle. And resentment at the unlovingness of life. Yes, I know that’s not a real word. Judge me.

And then, suddenly it’s time. Tears.

All too soon, the last of the goodbyes, well wishes, and best of luck’s have been given, and you’re standing in your kitchen for the last time, clinging to your mother for dear life and not caring the tiniest bit that snot and tears are staining her shirt and ruining your face. You’re mind is racing. You’re thinking of all the little, seemingly insignificant things you won’t get to do together anymore. You’re choking on “I love you’s” and “I’ll miss you’s” and all the words left unsaid. More tears.

Then, you’re driving away with one loaded white taurus, a pair of leaking eyes, and a heart that’s filled to over-flowing with love and gratitude. If ever you find yourself questioning or doubting your value and significance in the lives of the people you do life with, try leaving them. You’ll be amazed.

Somewhere in between those 1500 miles,16 hours, and 3 bags of kettle corn, the tears begin to fall with less velocity and consistency, the ache in your chest begins to dull, and you start to breathe again.

Before you know it, you’re pulling in the drive to your new home at 1:30 a.m., too physically and emotionally spent to shed another tear or entertain any other thought besides sweet oblivion. At least for a few hours. Then you wake up. You cry. You call your mother. You cry. You unpack your car. You cry. You start putting your room in order. You cry. You repeat. You cry *less.

*progress

And one day

You look around and you see the sun shining for the first time in days. You see your new town and fall in love with its beauty and newness. You spend the day out on the town, and at the end of the day, you pull into the driveway to your new house and feel relief that you are finally home. You smile and it’s not just to be polite. You laugh and it’s not forced. You start dreaming, planning, and writing again. You live.

New beginnings.