Life Is a Darling Felicity.

January 16, 2012. 9:46pm.

Traipsing through the SeaTac Airport, my head was clouded with inclement weather warnings and tenative transportation arrangements. It was just shy of 10pm, the very tip of the tail end of a 12+ hour travel day. My bones were weary, my eyes were bloodshot, and my feet were two blocks of concrete.

Finding a seat on the fringes of baggage claim, I melted into a puddle of exhaustion. Usually, by the time I had found my way to the cumbersome carousels, lumbering with luggage and miscellaneous parcels, I would have been anticipating a happy reunion with a patiently waiting party. We would exchange hugs and hurried stories, and excitedly make our way back to the city, where we would share a leisurely meal and play a quick game of catch up.

On this particular night, it was not so. Most people were hunkering down in their homes, dubiously preparing for “Snowmageddon”, scavenging for kindling to fuel fireside chats, and dipping buttered toast into steaming bowls of tomato soup. 

Considering my terrible case of jet lag, paired with my state of general disorientation, the very thought of attempting to navigate the now snow-routed metro at this hour made me shudder. But, good fortune flashed me a grin when my dear friend Kathleen called just as I began to head over to the Light Rail Station. She was going to brave the impending elements to come and retrieve me. 

As I began to allow myself to become acquainted with relief at the end of such a long trek, I began to finally let my thoughts settle. The trip that I was returning from was a gamechanger, of sorts. The horizon that I had felt was barely hovering above my head for the past few months was once again elevated to soaring heights. I had resolved to move to New York City in March.

With that decision made fresh, again, like the snow that was just beginning to fall outside, my surroundings took on a new tone. What had moments before been seen as the outfitting of drudgery was now coated with an armor of bittersweetness. I looked around and knew: this would be my last Seattle homecoming.

“God,” I muttered to myself, “I’m going to miss the hell out of this city.” 

It’s true. I’ll miss it all.

I’ll miss the rambling mountains. Snowcapped in the winter, shrouded in evergreen velvet in the spring. I’ll miss the crisp summer days that seem to be endless. I’ll miss the sweet, mild autumns.

Throughout all of this, it has become apparent to me that life happens in seasons. There is no room for disconnect between one and the other. The common thread that holds each one together with what follows is a picture of beautiful continuity; we can only hope to have evolved into more of who we are as we leave one season for the next.

And that is what I hope for now.

My sojourn here, on the emerald soil that I have called home for the last two years, is reaching its denouement. The insatiable impatience of my youth is leading me elsewhere.

And now, I must go.

As I continue to move forward, this truth has become increasingly clear to me: it is no good to begrudge the past, with all of its folly and misgivings; it is the very reason you are who you are at present.

I move on fully reconciled with the past; I have no fear of it. This makes the present that much sweeter. And as the future quietly unfolds before me, with all of its glittering uncertainty, I take heart in this: I am who I am, and I embrace who I will be.

To those of you who I have met and shared a wonderful life with here in Seattle: thank you. Thank you for showing me what it means to live with a fullness that is irrevocable. I’m grateful that our narratives found a common place to intertwine and intersect, no matter how great or brief a time. Each one of you have made an indelible mark on the pages of my story.

I can only hope to have done the same on yours.

xo.