The clock is ticking
Today is my last day at the Times, but even more so, it is my last day in Washington D.C. It’s been eight months, friends. I must admit, the thought is a bit overwhelming. And rather than provide a reflection (for that will only come in time), it is only fitting for me to post a few entries I wrote before all of this began. It has been incredibly therapeutic to read, like the finishing of a good book.
Solid Gold, January 5th
I have driven a lot these past few days, and I’ve decided that driving can be quite therapeutic. Provided with an impeccable music selection and a coffee in my hand, I am more than willing to hit the road. I left Kokomo Sunday morning and I couldn’t of asked for a better day of driving. Winding along the hills of Indiana on a bright, blue sky morning with the sweet voice of Peter Bradley Adams projected from my speakers was more than I could of asked for. Whats more, I feel as though I am on the brink of something new, and I’ve eagerly soaked up these last moments before life washes my soul. I’m slowly becoming more and more comfortable with not knowing, and I catch myself smiling sometimes because God is funny. And good. And refreshing.
It’s raining but the sun is still shining, April 29th
I consider myself a “man without a mission.” Should I start packing? Packing feels like a finality. Should I finally start clearing out my food in the kitchen? Well, those bananas should of been gone weeks ago. Should I do a few loads of laundry? It would be nice to have some clean clothes this next week. Maybe I should throw away the mound of newspapers sitting on my desk. Yes, that definitely needs to go. All of this instant free time makes me feel lost. I’m not packing because I’m not leaving. I’m not … leaving. I keep repeating this to myself. I’m simply transferring my belongings to an apartment a few streets over. Everyone is saying their last goodbyes to their favorite spots, and I’m not participating.
I keep feeling as though I’m being left behind. I’m entering a whole new phase of my life, and while I have been living on my own this semester, this summer will become something new entirely. It will not be without its adventures. Its a summer of potential.
A feast of fireworks, July 4th
It is difficult to imagine that it is already July. As I stood on the sidewalk this evening, engulfed by the summer night’s heat, I felt at peace. Almost content. And I felt very, very fortunate. These have been critical months for me, and I have grown immensely. I have such a clearer vision of my place in life and what I am striving for — all of this sculpted by my current circumstances. I have experienced an incredible amount of heartache, sadness, joy and laughter these past six weeks. Memories and pictures keep coming to mind (mostly from the week I spent at the hospital with my family and the weeks to follow), including the times I have spent investing in this city and in relationships I have developed during my time here.
And here I am again, July 15
Although I live in a world where closure is a necessity, I would rather of gone without it. Because while saying goodbyes has become a norm in my life, I’ve realized they do not get easier. In fact, they only get harder. I remember my sister saying that she wishes she could simply “pack up and bolt into the night – no goodbyes, not difficult conversations. It would be as easy as breathing.” I wish I was more like that. Then the pictures in my mind would never change. They would would remain exactly as they were – as though I was returning.