Letting go
Left Los Angeles a little over a week ago. I don’t really consider that to be a “letting go” however, since I wasn’t really holding on to it. Sure, some aspects were fun, and contrary to the myth, there are in fact 3 or 4 cool people there. I’ll miss the incredible selection at grocery stores (literally almost any ingredient you can imagine was available within about 15 miles radius), and the funky ethnic neighborhoods and restaurants (Brazilian, Thai, Armenian, Sri Lankan, Iranian, Russian, etc), and the 3rd Street Promenade in Santa Monica where I watched the performers and tried to perform myself before being booted out. But that is about it.
The real letting go involved things much closer to my heart. First, last, and most places in between: Risa. 11 months is a long time apart, though the perpetual optimist is angling for monthly rendezvous. I suppose we’ll get through it alright, with phone calls and letters (many, many letters) and the occasional visit. In fact I’m pretty sure we’ll get through it, since the first 6 months where we really got to know each other, I was on the other side of the planet exchanging letters.
Second was my program at NAU, my baby that I inherited as a premature newborn ready to die on the vine that I worked and sweated to develop into a national leader in Wilderness Medicine. In fact, to facilitate the hand off to the fellow that is taking over my job as coordinator and manager, I went back to Flagstaff to help teach the first 4 days of the latest class and ease the transition. As class was ending on my last day, we were reviewing homework and the day’s lesson, and I paused, for a moment longer than usual. They were leaning forward, anticipating some important insight about cardiac assessment in the wilderness, but no insight was forthcoming. I was just soaking it in, the sight and feeling of what may very well be my last experience for a long time standing at that end of a classroom. So I’ve got that mental snapshot to carry with me for awhile.
Lastly, it was Flagstaff, my home, and all the friends I’m leaving behind. As one who grew up on the move, Flagstaff was the first home I chose, the first place I voluntarily came back to after every adventure and excursion. This time however it is for longer than ever before, and even an eventual return is an uncertainty. I temper my feelings of loss and letting go with the thought that I am likely to return, likely to teach again, and will see my girl again before too long (though it will be too long). And I think of the words my friend Mattie used when she left Flagstaff, when asked why and wherefore, she responded: “to conquer new territory.”
The real letting go involved things much closer to my heart. First, last, and most places in between: Risa. 11 months is a long time apart, though the perpetual optimist is angling for monthly rendezvous. I suppose we’ll get through it alright, with phone calls and letters (many, many letters) and the occasional visit. In fact I’m pretty sure we’ll get through it, since the first 6 months where we really got to know each other, I was on the other side of the planet exchanging letters.
Second was my program at NAU, my baby that I inherited as a premature newborn ready to die on the vine that I worked and sweated to develop into a national leader in Wilderness Medicine. In fact, to facilitate the hand off to the fellow that is taking over my job as coordinator and manager, I went back to Flagstaff to help teach the first 4 days of the latest class and ease the transition. As class was ending on my last day, we were reviewing homework and the day’s lesson, and I paused, for a moment longer than usual. They were leaning forward, anticipating some important insight about cardiac assessment in the wilderness, but no insight was forthcoming. I was just soaking it in, the sight and feeling of what may very well be my last experience for a long time standing at that end of a classroom. So I’ve got that mental snapshot to carry with me for awhile.
Lastly, it was Flagstaff, my home, and all the friends I’m leaving behind. As one who grew up on the move, Flagstaff was the first home I chose, the first place I voluntarily came back to after every adventure and excursion. This time however it is for longer than ever before, and even an eventual return is an uncertainty. I temper my feelings of loss and letting go with the thought that I am likely to return, likely to teach again, and will see my girl again before too long (though it will be too long). And I think of the words my friend Mattie used when she left Flagstaff, when asked why and wherefore, she responded: “to conquer new territory.”
posted by Jared | 8:07 AM
1 Comments:
To conquer new territory.... Honestly, I don't know if it's the thin air or what, but it feels as if I'm becoming more psychotic and more anti-social as I've grown old in Flag. I've been here 8.5 years, and wow, I look back and what have I accomplished?
My father always taught me to keep at it, and to stay focused, but I see you, Alex and Sabrina, Lara, Elliot, Mattie travel and go all over the place, conquering, exploring, living life. I see me stale.
I hope that this year I can see the rest of Flag that I haven't seen, eat at restaurants that I haven't eaten, sit on bar stools I've never thought of sitting. I feel that after I conquer Flag, I can then say "This place truly sucks. Let's move on." Or, who knows, maybe I'll find something/someone to keep me in Flag.
I look forward to reading your blog. Keep in touch.
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