Northern Horizon

To everything there is a season.

A couple months ago, I lost my primary job. It wasn't a job I had wanted to keep for life, but it's never fun to lose a job. I regrouped and started revamping my resume and hitting the job market, as I had been doing an average of once a year for the past six years. But this time it was different. I had had a standing job offer, a job I wanted in a place I wanted to live, for the past five years-- the only drawback was that I would have to move from the only place I'd ever lived long enough as an adult to feel at home. And I'd have to move move. Like to the other side of the planet move. And I hate moving, I hate saying goodbye. But as I sat waiting for my turn in an interview at yet another restaurant job, it suddenly didn't make sense anymore. It was time.

I took the teaching job.

A couple weeks ago I stood in the doorway of my beloved room. The purple walls were bare, the white windowsills were empty. The bed was stripped and the only thing sitting on the freshly swept hardwood floor were three large boxes taped shut, and a black trunk, all full of things I couldn't take with me. "Goodbye, room," I whispered, and the corners echoed the goodbye sadly back to me. Suddenly all the tears I had held in from the last six weeks-- through all the packing and saying goodbye to friends, giving hugs and gifts and notes and goodbye speeches with a smile and promises to stay in touch-- suddenly threatened a massive thunderstorm. As I hugged Pepper for the last time, they came. They drenched her furry head, and the poor thing licked my face sympathetically, not understanding what was wrong. They didn't stop. I managed to find the door and the porch steps despite my blurred vision. I shoved my suitcase into the backseat and pulled out onto the road. And as I hit interstate 20 and passed the Lexington exits for the last time, my heart was finally able to let go.

A few days later, I said goodbye to my car. My one constant safe spot through all the moves and jobs and life experiences of the past 6 years. We'd had a wonderful last road trip together, and that morning I cried again and wished her the best new owner who would love her as she deserves. I handed the key to the lady behind the desk. And that was when something deep in my soul somewhere embraced the reality that, at that moment, I no longer had an external home.

A couple hours after that, I was at the gate waiting on my flight to Amsterdam.

I was flying north. I had a nothing but a carryon beside me, my lucky boots on my feet, and a heart full of memories.

And a pair of brown eyes looking hopefully to the future.