Anxiety. Heartbreak. Saying goodbye is always miserable for me. All of a sudden I realize I love my friends and their imperfections. I love the fact that they love me the most, and I wonder why I'm leaving, why I ever leave. I love my little town. I love the things that yesterday i couldn't stand. I love the hipsters. I understand them now. I wonder how I ever had the capacity to complain about anything really. But many tears later, and alone on the plane, the sun blazes in the window, the anxiety dissipates, and I realize I am where I need to be. The last time I was here, things were very different. I was planning to get married a month after my return. And now here I am, one year and a few months later, and I've been splitting up hand-made pottery as collateral (along with camping gear) and I'm on my own for the first time. I said goodbye to a handful of good friends this morning, smashed a few bananas in my mom's trunk, and sat with Morgan at the whiskey bar at the airport. It was 11 am. We cried, and held each other, and reminded each other that in a few short months we'd see each other at the beach.
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