And So It Goes

Thanksgiving has never been my favorite holiday. In fact, I might go so far as to say that I dread Thanksgiving. Call me ungrateful, call unamerican, but there is nothing about sitting in a lawn chair eating off of plasticware outside a doublewide with 50 people I may or may not know that warms the cockels of my heart. Nothing. This year, I feel like I have little to be thankful for. The fact is, and remains until May, that I am not where I want to be or with who I want to be with.
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Well, he called. The conversation lasted for close to half an hour and ended much sooner than I would have liked. I sat on the floor of my living room, shaking like a leaf from nerves. My voice gave out and I almost started to cry when he told me we needed to talk. I am left overcome by the bittersweet nature of the way we have left things. Fate is a bitch. You see, no matter how fantastic the time we spent together was, the 3000 miles between us doesn't seem to be getting any smaller. In fact, I think the distance seems to grow daily. If we lived in the same town, hell, if we lived in state, things would be different. I got what I needed, though, that necessary confirmation of feelings, the promise that nothing is over. We'll keep in touch over the next few months and I'll call him when I get settled there, but, for now, we're both free to live our lives without any attatchments to the other. I'm sad and incredibly disappointed but I have a head full of fantastic memories to help with the healing.
"Nobody said it was easy. Oh, it's such a shame for us to part. Nobody said was easy but no one ever said it would be this hard." ~Coldplay
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Could some one please explain to me why something that took literally no thought or struggle or effort only one week ago has suddenly become one of the most difficult things in the world. I really would like to play this whole thing cool, I really would like to "play it by ear," as he said. Why then am I upset when he doesn't call? Why do I have to ruin everything by calling myself? Why can't I just let things BE?! I have this horrible knot in the pit of my stomach. I am suddenly replaying conversations over and over and doubting their authenticity. All I want is to hear his voice. Why do I now feel as if that is asking too much?
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I got an email from my mother today. She is concerned. No big surprise, I think alot of what I do and what I am planning to do concerns her. I'm moving to California in less than 6 months and she is worried. I met someone while I was in San Francisco, someone I think is absolutely fantastic regardless of whether I may or may not have a future with him, and she is worried. I made the mistake of putting those topics together in one conversation and so, of course, she is worried. I'm not saying her fears are unjustified. I mean, I'm scared as hell to pack up everything I own and move three thousand miles across the country. But I still have to do it. Now is the time to be rash, to leap before I take a nice, long look at the canyon in front of me, to pick up and relocate in a place where I know only a handful of people. I am 21 years old, and never again in my life will I be as free as I am today. I refuse to settle somewhere because my parents are uncomfortable with my decisions. As far as the man I met, I will admit that our "relationship" seems a bit sudden, that my interest in him may be rushed and a bit extreme. But, I have to wonder how my mother felt after spending a few days with my father. I know for a fact that she knew he was "the one" on the night of their first date. I'm not saying that I'm going to marry this person, though the thought has crossed my mind several times, but I will say that I intend to explore every possiblilty as far as he is concerned. Excepting the thousands of miles that separates this person and I, I fail to see a difference between my situation and that of my parents. I know that I am opening myself for a wide range of heartaches and troubles, but the fact still remains that they are my mistakes to make.
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So, Tony Bennet once said he left his heart in San Francisco. I have left that and just about everything else. I am now just a shell, functioning for the next six months at which time I will pack up every meager belonging I can fit in my Mazda 626 and drive across the country to that city by the bay. I was made for city life. I was made for that city. I was made for the people, no, the person sitting in that city right now in his apartment on Scott Street. The smell of his home lingers in my hair, left over from our goodbye this morning, and I'm sad to have to wash it as the smell is the only tangible thing I have to remember him. Aside from the dull ache in the pit of my stomach, the result of leaving that fantastic city, that amazing person, I am deliriously happy. It's about time.
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