Never Good at Goodbye

As I drove to work this morning the sun was shining and the temperature was rising all the way to forty-something, so I did what any self respecting southern sunshine lover would do. I rolled down my window and listened to country music.

Some poor country man was singing about his girl leavin' him. He was pretty sure it was the last time he'd see her again, because she'd gotten "good at goodbye."

Among the long list of things I'm no good at is goodbye. I've always been so frustrated with myself over this little hang-up because tough goodbyes are so inconvenient for someone who travels around a good bit. I mean goodbye happens A LOT in my life, so you'd think I'd be able to get through it with fewer tears and a smaller knot in my stomach...but nope.

I still need a shop-vac to suck all of the waterworks out of my car each time I leave somewhere old to go somewhere new.

And I've decided that I want it to stay that way. The day that I get good at goodbye is the day that I have ceased to care about where I am and who is there. That's the day that I stop enjoying new places for the community and love they hold and start simply traveling for a pretty picture.

I love to go new places, to feel hard core in my adventures, and to be independent and strong.

I also love the familiar feel of an old friend's house, the knowledge that a hug will await me at the end of a terrible day, and stories that involve people experiencing life together.

Letting go of these things should be hard. It should make us cry. It should feel like a piece of us has been yanked out.

If it doesn't, then I am of the mind that we didn't actually spend real time with real people in the midst of real life.