That at last I would
Take this road, but yesterday
I did not know that it would be today.
Ariwara No Narihira
825-880 AD
A time I left someone, something, or somewhere:
Valerie S:
The Goodbye for Mirror Ball
We were engaged. I had a ring. I also had criticism, self despair, darkness, unworthiness. And my mother was dying. I asked him what the ring meant, finally. He said, to keep you hanging on. That's when I knew I could say goodbye.
John S:
I'm going to answer this topic with a song I composed last year. It's a somewhat fictionalized account of the night I was told to move out of my (abusive) home. Thankfully I had somewhere to go that night. So many teenage boys and girls don't.
Tanya:
Heather:
I left a husband in November of 2006. Doing so connected me to my Superman husband in 2009. Also, I’ve lived in Wisconsin for 35 years & finally on November 28th we’re moving away to North Carolina to get away from the cold weather.
Lori M:
I was 20 years old, living in the north of England for the year. My boyfriend from home was traveling that year as well, and we had planned for him to meet me in York during Spring Break so we could travel around Scotland. He arrived at my flat in the late afternoon, having flown all the way from Kenya. Upon arriving, he told me he had met someone else in Africa that he was involved with, but that he thought we could still have fun traveling together as friends. What??! I told him he could stay the night, but that I wasn't going anywhere with him. I woke up at 5am the next morning and walked to the cathedral in the center of town - the doors were always open, and normally it was jammed with tourists, but I had the place to myself. I sat smack dab in the center in the sea of pews, underneath the central arch, and meditated in that deafening silence that rings in those ancient stone structures. I'm not at all religious, in the conventional sense, but I have to say, that room was filled with something that gave me courage and strength. I walked back to my flat, packed my backpack, told my ex-boyfriend to lock the door behind him, and headed for the train station. I bought a ticket for the Isle of Skye, off the coast of Scotland. Sitting on the train, the sad and hurt gradually gave way to a quiet awakening and feeling of self-reliance. It was the first time in my life that I had traveled alone with no plan, and I had an amazing trip.
Valerie S:
The Goodbye for Mirror Ball
We were engaged. I had a ring. I also had criticism, self despair, darkness, unworthiness. And my mother was dying. I asked him what the ring meant, finally. He said, to keep you hanging on. That's when I knew I could say goodbye.
John S:
I'm going to answer this topic with a song I composed last year. It's a somewhat fictionalized account of the night I was told to move out of my (abusive) home. Thankfully I had somewhere to go that night. So many teenage boys and girls don't.
Tanya:
I remember
leaving home on the east coast to carve a new life in California. I had been
married for a year, and we had saved up, purchased our very first car, sold a
lot of our stuff, and headed west. We shipped what remaining stuff we had
in UPS boxes to a friends garage to await our arrival. This was a grand
adventure, as I had lived in the tri-state area my entire life. Al and I
left on a hope and a dream, with no real job prospects, no clue where we'd
live, and a handful of friends and contacts. People tell me how brave that was,
but to us it was a thrilling journey full of infinite possibilities!
Over the years
the survival jobs led to rich, interesting, creative and ever evolving careers
in the arts. We bought house #1, a bungalow under the flight pattern of a
busy commuter airport that we purchased on a shoestring while collecting
unemployment between jobs. With some decorating wizardry, we sold it for a
profit to buy House #2, a 1920's Spanish in need of restoration and enormous
love that we purchased for a song and sold at the height of the market to
enable us to build house #3. We now live in the Spanish dream house that
I designed and built. We have two California born teenage daughters and
our second dog, Bodhi. Our life is now rooted here in Southern
California…who would have guessed.
The east coast
is still our reply when asked "where is home", but I have to confess
that our life is here now, and life is really good! I still remember the
day we drove off in our little dreamy Toyota corolla with the cloth seats and
the crank windows. The smiles on our faces met smiles and tears on my
parents faces as we pulled out of their Connecticut driveway to begin our
adventure. I never knew it was forever. I never knew that was the
last time I would live there, that my father would be gone a short time later
and my beautiful childhood home would be sold. I never knew that some of
my family would follow me West, and my mother would pass too…erasing the
powerful ties to where I grew up.
We are heading
east for Xmas this year, where when I visit Connecticut overnight I will stay
in a hotel near the shore and see a couple of friends before heading into
Manhattan. How strange. Every time we go I drive by the house that I grew up
in. It looks the same, and as long as I don't go inside it will remain my home
in my heart of hearts, filled with all of the family and furnishings and love
and good smells and music and laughter and joy and sunshine and great welcome! Others
may live there now, but it is still my home.
I never knew
that as we drove off in the fall of 1990, it would be "the last". If
I did, maybe I would have stopped and cherished the moment; taken in the
fullness and the sacredness of it all. Now as my daughters get older and
leave, I wonder when it will be the "last" time for them. When
it will be the time when they never live at home again. It occurs to me that we
rarely know when something is "the last"…and then it is, and a new
adventure begins.
Laura Liz:
When I left Madison in June of ’07 and headed to Portland, I wasn’t sure why. I had finished my undergrad and wanted to work a while before grad school. It just seemed like a good time to move, even though I’ve always loved Madison. I was dating a man who had been one of my best friends for over 4 years, this man who I was convinced I would eventually marry, and the plan was for him to come with me. His mom had even bought dishes for us to take with us. A couple weeks before the move was planned, he changed his mind. He couldn’t leave his mom, because she’d be too sad if all her kids weren’t in Wisconsin. It hurt, and I now had to decide whether I should continue with my plan alone, having no friends in Portland, jumping into new surroundings without a support system, or stay in Madison, a place that was stable, predictable, a place that I loved and where I could make a life with this man who made me so happy. It was a hard decision, but I knew that if I didn’t go, I’d always wonder what would have happened if I did. There was this mysterious thing pulling me toward Portland, and I listened, leaving my family, my friends, my beloved, and the comfort of familiar surroundings behind. When I told people I was moving to Portland they asked, “What are you going to do in Portland?” And I responded, “Everything.”Heather:
I left a husband in November of 2006. Doing so connected me to my Superman husband in 2009. Also, I’ve lived in Wisconsin for 35 years & finally on November 28th we’re moving away to North Carolina to get away from the cold weather.
Lori M:
I was 20 years old, living in the north of England for the year. My boyfriend from home was traveling that year as well, and we had planned for him to meet me in York during Spring Break so we could travel around Scotland. He arrived at my flat in the late afternoon, having flown all the way from Kenya. Upon arriving, he told me he had met someone else in Africa that he was involved with, but that he thought we could still have fun traveling together as friends. What??! I told him he could stay the night, but that I wasn't going anywhere with him. I woke up at 5am the next morning and walked to the cathedral in the center of town - the doors were always open, and normally it was jammed with tourists, but I had the place to myself. I sat smack dab in the center in the sea of pews, underneath the central arch, and meditated in that deafening silence that rings in those ancient stone structures. I'm not at all religious, in the conventional sense, but I have to say, that room was filled with something that gave me courage and strength. I walked back to my flat, packed my backpack, told my ex-boyfriend to lock the door behind him, and headed for the train station. I bought a ticket for the Isle of Skye, off the coast of Scotland. Sitting on the train, the sad and hurt gradually gave way to a quiet awakening and feeling of self-reliance. It was the first time in my life that I had traveled alone with no plan, and I had an amazing trip.
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