In an Airport in Chicago

My life is a constant leaving.  I left home for college; I left college to study in France and China; I returned home from China only to leave for school again; I graduated from college and returned home; now I find myself leaving once again, this time for Taiwan.  I have had to start over so many times I’ve nearly lost count.  I started over when I began college.  From there, I had to start over again when I went to France.  When I decided to leave Miami for a year, I had to start once again at OSU, where, as all the times before, I knew no one.  From there I went to China, where I started over yet again.  And when I returned to Miami, everyone I knew had graduated, so it was yet another new beginning.  The tragedy of my constant leaving is that it is only just before I leave that I find I am comfortable where I am.  I spent a lot of time unhappy in China, but it was also one of the most fascinating cultural experiences of my life.  When it came time to leave, I realized I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.  I also spent an inordinate amount of time unhappy at Miami, only to discover right before I graduated that, much to my surprise, I was actually happy.

And now?  Now.  I leave once again, for a year this time, longer than I’ve ever been away before.  I’m leaving my cat, who has grown accustomed to my constant comings and goings.  I’m leaving my house, the only place I’ve ever comfortably been able to refer to as “home.”  I’m leaving the good friendships and relationships I have spent the past year building and strengthening. I’m leaving my family, the only people who have known me and stuck with me my entire life.

Don’t get me wrong—I don’t regret my decision to accept the Fulbright and move to the opposite side of the world for a year.  I know that the coming year holds untold wonders; countries and cities to visit, another culture to study, a language to learn, an interesting opportunity to teach.  But it’s hard to see that clearly when you are face-to-face with all the people that you love and you know that in a few minutes, after the inevitable parting, you won’t see them for a very long time.

So I head off now for the unknown.  I don’t know anyone where I’ll be going.  I’ve never visited Taiwan, although I lived in China, so I know at least in part what to expect.  I don’t have many details about what I’ll actually be doing this year.  I don’t know who I’ll be living with, or what my living accommodations will be like.  I don’t know if I packed appropriate clothing, or if I packed too much that I actually could have purchased in Taiwan.  I have a multitude of questions and a pithy few answers.

In conclusion, then, to those of you that I’m leaving behind: though I will be far away, heading off into the relative unknown, you are loved and missed and will not be forgotten.  I hope it goes both ways.