The Problem with Goodbye

The last time I saw my dog, I knew it was the last time. I was grateful, because you don’t always know it when it’s the last time. There is comfort in knowing; the knowledge gives you the ability to resolve yourself to the idea that there is going to be a loss. A piece of you is going to fade into the earth and you’ll eventually think less and less on it, so your heart is less full of that which is gone and more vacant for what might come and fill it up again.

I got down on the floor with her, and that wretched, knotted blanket, blue and white checkered and rubbed my cheek against her neck. She was earnest for the affection and couldn’t sound it because she was too weak but her movement was all toward me. I was crying, and the tears were on her fur. She knows me crying. Nine years and a family that couldn't stay the same for 9 seconds but she were there, a simple constant, a comforting present... nine years and I said goodbye to her in the afternoon and never saw her again.

But I knew.

And there’s the Spaniard. Ah, the Spaniard. I knew it then too, on the line to go through security in Zurich airport. It was like kissing a mannequin. He seemed eager to end whatever sort of goodbye it might be. I simply quoted to him “Why should he stay, whom love doth call to go?”. I thought I was smart for that, quoting Shakespeare in an airport goodbye. He didn’t understand, and, of course, I hadn’t expected him to. But this little self knowledge gave me the humor to turn to hand my passport to the security officer. It was only halfway down the corridor, past five or six duty-free shops toward my gate that I started to let the tears go, when I knew he couldn’t see or hear or care.

Grandma. I didn’t want to let go so easy and I grabbed at the couch cushions in the seconds after her death, as if getting a grip there might pull her back to this side of heaven.

But goodbye doesn't always mean tears. And it gets easier, with practice. And i'm used to being alone.

The Artist wanted to say good-bye before I was ready, and I wouldn’t let him. I’m glad I didn’t because it was a much pleasanter goodbye than it would’ve been. And when it finally was goodbye it was simple and easy and expected.

My family has said goodbye to me so many times that I can go to the airport without an entourage now. And I can arrive to a cab to pick me up.

I’ve even said goodbye to myself, hell

I'm about to do it again.

Because that's what traveling can be. An abandonment of the historical self. The ultimate goodbye. Goodbye to 22 years of living in a country where I never felt at home.

Home. That's the word i'm getting at. Or to. Because I don't really have one.

Right now I am living on a 17th floor apartment on the upper east side. For two weeks. This is the 5th bed i've called a temporary home since May.

Now something I understand well about myself, if this:

I'm not looking to find home in a place.
I'm looking to find home in a person. Or persons.

And i'm trying to figure out how to separate the places and people, and still manage to maintain meaningful relationships.

What matters to me are the people, the lovely, beautiful, insane people I have the joy to call my family and friends and coworkers and acquaintances. And I keep leaving them. Leaving them in the place THEY call home. And most of the time I leave knowing I will never see them again.

It's not like I can't keep in touch. My friend Michelle, who I saw just two nights ago has been a friend of mine for 17 years.

But we go months and years without seeing each other.

Even with my family.
Let's not get into my family.

This is it: I need to, want to, must, must, must TRAVEL--- but for all the good it does me, I have this one problem: the Goodbye.

And this is my little hope, my little future i'm creating and dreaming...

One day -- and I know it's got to happen, because it almost did before...One day I will find a home in a one person, and that person will come along on my journey, and I can travel on his path too, and somehow we can manage to carry the idea of home as a place inside us, and bring it with us wherever we go, needing only to be together to manifest it.

For now, It's nice to dream.
But my feet are far from tired, and nobody likes to go running these days.
When I find someone who's up for a good run, i'll write about Hello.