Goodbyes

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.

Amy Tangerine

Salir/Irse/Dejar

A photo posted by A M A N D A 🌵 (@mandalyn93) on Sep 1, 2015 at 6:14pm PDT

When I was a chubby, long-haired sixth grader, I swore I was moving to Alaska. I couldn't take any more of the darn Arizona heat. I wanted snow! Husky dogs! Polar bears! Ice fishing!

At least, I wanted all those things until my mom told me about giant mosquitoes living in Alaska. After that, I was content with the sunshine.

Come seventh grade, I wanted to go to California. I did a report on Pepperdine University in seventh grade. I toured Biola, California Baptist University and some other California college during the spring break of my sophomore year of high school.

Junior year, I started dating a boy and suddenly didn't want to leave anymore. He captured my heart and my focus shifted away from Biola and over to Northern Arizona University and Grand Canyon University. Relationships and feelings foiled my plans of escape!

Seriously, if I could go back and mentor eleventh grade Amanda, I would tell her "Don't change your plans for a boy. Go where you want to go, do what you want to do. Don't stay here for him," because that's life advice every high school student needs to hear.

And that's the story of how I ended up in Arizona and haven't left yet--but I've always wanted to leave. Deep down, I've always wanted to leave.

The reasons have changed. When I was young, I hated the sun and heat. When I was a little bit older, I wanted to get away from my parents and establish my independence by putting a few hundred miles between us.

Now that I enjoy the sunshine and have established independence from my parents (with only sixteen miles between us) I'm grappling with this question:

Why do I still want to leave?

I've actually, oddly, fallen in love with this city and state.

Phoenix is full of kind and quirky characters, from the owners of coffee shops to the managers of plant and oddity stores, to the kids who live and work in at an urban farmhouse down the street from my friends.

The art district has eaten me alive, but in the best way possible. It gobbled me up and spat me back out, covered in paint string glitter photographs guitars video footage ceramics and every other medium you could think of.

The roles are reversed when it comes to the food scene--I've gobbled it up, and nary have spat it back out. I've stuffed my face with doughnuts, drank plenty of $5 pitchers, and cried when Paz Taqueria's building was torn down.

Maybe I have Stockholm Syndrome. 

I've spent so much time living in Phoenix--captive--I grew to love the place. I had no choice but to make the best of what I had, where I was--and I can't help but think this dusty sprawl town has done the same.

If you know me, you know I love mail...and I got a lot of exciting stuff today 😁

A photo posted by A M A N D A 🌵 (@mandalyn93) on Feb 19, 2016 at 4:34pm PST

Now, as I look into routes of escape (aka grad school plans for 2017; see the giant white envelopes in the photo above), I can't help but notice all of the little signs telling me to stay in state.

Up until today, I was looking into two different graduate schools--University of San Francisco and St Mary's College of California. Both offer a Masters' of Art in Teaching with single-subject credentials and an emphasis in social justice. USF goes a step further and is participating in a program called the San Francisco Teachers Residency, where program participants attend a year of graduate school and are then employed in the San Francisco School System for three years. Living and working with schools in the Bay Area sounds like a dream to me--I love it. I've only visited once extensively but I love it.

But there are so many tiny reminders pushing me to stay here, stay home, devote myself to a life in Phoenix. 

I had coffee with my friend Claire a few weeks ago. She's graduating soon and is also looking at becoming a teacher after graduation. Neither of us majored in education, so we're looking at alternate routes together.

While I expressed my passion and desire to move out of state, she shared her desire to do the exact opposite--she wants to stay in state and work here because of how badly Phoenix schools need help.

Example: Program to funnel kids out of the public school system and into private schools rather than improving public schools. 

And as Claire was saying this, my heart went ~boom~

Who else wants to invest in her community? Me.
Who know the needs of her community? Me.
Who loves this dusty little city with most of her heart? Me.

So why would I want to leave?

Dear 2015: A Letter

Dear 2015,

Goodbye.

You were neither the best nor the worst year on the books. You started on incredibly positive notes, with a minute hangover after a brilliant triple date party with some of the coolest people I knew but don't talk to anymore. The people who kicked off 2015 with me are in infinitely different places as well, and I can't help but wonder how their years are ending in Boston/Flagstaff/married/etc.

January saw the continuation of a healthy, positive relationship that I still intensely miss at times, as well as the beginning stages of an amazing school project on immigration and border issues.

February ushered in a season of stress, when time continued to pass and the countdown to my Nicaragua trip continued getting smaller. Feb, you also saw the somewhat blindsiding end of that relationship.

But who has time to grieve a relationship when you have to orchestrate discussions with at least ten people 3,000 miles away, most of whom only speak Spanish. March saw the mid-mark of my final semester of university, as well as a massive journalism trip out of the country. 

The remaining time before graduation is a blur. 2015, what did you do to me?! Everything between Nicaragua and May 4th bleeds together in a pool of stress and words. I had to write about 15,000 words between January and the beginning of May, and those words just swam in my head and left me sitting in coffee shops for too long.

But May 4th--I remember that day. Mitch, my closest and oldest Cronkite friend, took me to Disneyland to celebrate graduation and my completion of college. I'm so glad that through the years, miles and differences, Mitch is in my life and around to support me as much as he does. 2015, I hope he's around as much in 2016 as he has been in the past.

A photo posted by 🌵 A M A N D A 🌵 (@mandalyn93) on May 12, 2015 at 6:28pm PDT

Graduation happened. That still doesn't feel real--I remember walking across the stage, shaking hands, accepting the diploma. It happened so fast. All of May happened fast--I graduated on a Tuesday, partied on a Saturday, and left for camp on a Sunday.

Ah, dear dear camp. 2015! You brought me to learn so much while working at UCYC for the summer. I honed my leadership skills, my communication abilities. I built strong friendships, I spent time outside every single day. I learned what second mile service means, and how to clean a cabin until it is absolutely spotless. I spent three months building friendships, biceps and some siiiiiick tan lines, not to mention a relationship that was all good until it wasn't good anymore.

The learning continued after I fell off that cliff while rappelling. I learned how to accept myself for who I am even when I hated me. I hated how I felt when I was stuck on the couch for six weeks as my broken knee healed, but now I have a great respect for the strength and ability of my body. I learned that it's okay to have times where you're completely not productive and are contributing nothing to society, and that I (continuously) need to stop comparing my accomplishments to the accomplishments of others.

2015, it was really hard to sit on the couch watching Doctor Who for weeks on end while I saw my classmates who graduated at the same time as me get jobs in other cities and states. I wanted to be them, in their shoes, as opposed to in my shoes with one chicken leg and one normal leg, struggling to shower every day.

But I did learn a lot from it. And after my knee healed, I did get hired into a "big girl job"--which is where I stand now. Working 40 hours a week never sounded so sweet, but I'm thankful for the setup I have and the experience I'm gaining.

Pause. Back to that camp relationship... Maybe it wasn't so shitty, but dang. I could have done without that heartbreak. Although, as in all hard things, I learned a lot. I learned the importance in seriously dating someone who has the same maturity as yourself. I learned that the way you communicate with your significant other is important, and certain breakdowns in communication can ruin relationships. I learned a lot, and for that, I am thankful. But as my camp boss said, breakups aren't bad. They just mean you're one step closer to finding someone you'll spend forever with.

Now, here I am, 2015. I'm very much still processing this past year, with the good relationships and the bad, the lost and the found. The concrete and the abstract. I'm not entirely sure what I want to do with my future, and that scares me a little--but I do know I will figure it out, and that I don't have to figure it out immediately.

So, goodbye 2015. You didn't suck, but I hope 2016 is better.

La la la love,
Amanda