The other night I caught a glimpse of this light for the last time. It could be a few months, or this could be it. I’ve learned over the years, through the naivety, that I can never quite predict where I will be.
This time, I was given three days notice. I put a note out into the world on Saturday and by Sunday night I had a place to live. I didn’t want to leave home that fast. I was ready for a new way of life, but I hadn’t quite appreciated the glimpse of light with the mindset that it might be for the last month, week, or day. I hadn’t done the drive to barre class with the anticipated nostalgia. I most certainly didn’t get a chance to hug my nieces enough, or go for that glass of wine with my mom. And despite that I had been home for 6 months, I still wish I had made the trek to my best friends new apartment in the middle of nowhere more. It would have been great if I had gone out with my Brother and Sister-in-law even just once or soaked up more of my Dad’s wisdom instead of catching up on Transparent. A show that he has unfortunately attempted to watch.
But when things happen so fast, moving forward with those regrets and those wishes, buries the excitement. Especially when you know you were the one that shouted.
I’m embarking on a new adventure. And it’s pretty scary. I’ll be ending one job that required me to travel and continue straight on to live in a new city. I have a suitcase and a half packed, but I also managed to pack more hope than before because if this doesn’t work out, the worst that happens is I have to go back home and try it again. And then I get those extra chances, hugs, moments, drives and glimpses of the flickering light.