I'm not particularly a fan of the whole goodbye thing. I've helped three friends move across state lines in the past two years, and I usually end up in blubbering tears, boarding a train/plane/sitting shotgun with an upset stomach because I hate leaving and knowing my friends won't be within two hours of me. Granted, I'm ultimately comforted by the fact that my friends are growing and experiencing amazing things in their new lives--but that doesn't make it easier.
Jackie just graduated and moved to New York to pursue her dream job of public relations for Broadway and theater-related places. After graduation and before going to New York, she had to go home to Chicago, and I accompanied her.
We spent time in her suburban home town as well as the big city, and took ample time scoping out the picturesque train station where I eventually boarded an Amtrak to cross the country. We cried big ugly alligator tears as we hugged goodbye, and she cried in the taxi to her podiatrist and I cried in the station waiting to board my train.
We've only been friends for three years, but in those three years of tight knit friendship, we've never lived far apart for a long span of time. Our friendship blossomed in the craziest way--we were randomly matched together to be roommates at ASU after I signed up to live in the dorms a few days after the cutoff, and after a few of her previous roommate plans had fallen through. We knew nothing of each other, but we bonded over an intricately made music video that piqued our interests.
Hannah, who I helped move to Dallas in January, is my closest friend. We've known each other for 20 years (give or take a few months). She moved away for a lucrative job offer, and now she's enjoying eating at Velvet Taco all the time.
We were blubbering messes when she dropped me off at the airport to fly back to Phoenix. I cried all the way through the TSA lines, and the TSA employee was surprisingly sympathetic for someone who is so often associated with long lines and terse interactions.
I finally stopped crying about her being gone once I landed in Phoenix (no joke--in all the years of our friendship, she and I have never lived in a different state. I cried off and on the whole way home). Occasionally she comes back to Phoenix (but not while I'm in town) and I also plan to go visit her on my way to Tulsa soon (more on that later).
Brenna, the first friend I helped move across state lines, is also one of my oldest friends (but, long story short, we weren't close until about 2011.) Two years ago, I drove up to Portland with her, her brother Ben, and our best friend Raquel. There was one moment in the car ride when I realized that I'd be leaving her there, and I was overwhelmed with sadness.
We made the most of the day and a half we had in Portland, and then left to return to Phoenix. The ride back was sad and filled with stomach aches because I missed her so much already. Now, two years later, she is doing swell and my upset stomach finally subsided. She's got a good job at a local Portland, Oregon shoe store and she's almost done with her Bachelor's degree.
While it hurts to see three of my four best friends scattered across the country, I'm encouraged by them. They all moved away to pursue what they thought was best for themselves--Brenna left to experience something new and begin an adventure; Hannah left to start her "adult" life at her first "big girl job" in a city with an amazing food scene; and Jackie went to New York to pursue a life long dream of working in theater (and there is no better place to do that than Broadway.)
Now, these ladies' dreams may change someday. Their priorities may shift and they may find themselves back in Phoenix (or, you know, Chicago for Jackie.) But if they do end up back here, I have no doubt it would not be because they gave up, but rather because they wanted to pursue a new dream.
For now, even though I miss them and hated leaving them in their different new cities, I'm so incredibly proud of them for chasing their dreams, turning them into plans, and making those plans reality.
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| Amy Tangerine |
