All this talk about leaving Athens

When I was a kid, I didn’t have a lot of friends because I did not feel that I needed friends. I was shy, independent, and basically smart enough to handle most of my own situations. I was by myself and everything was basically fine.

I think that began to change when I became involved in band for the first time. I started realizing that, while I didn’t “need” anyone else, that other people could contribute to my life in ways that the intentionally lonely can not understand. As I began appreciating my friendships, I noticed that I had a very difficult time leaving those people when I was required to do so. My departure from Nashville the first time was met with a great deal of fanfare and lots of tears. When I left my high school in Atlanta to come to Athens, the same thing happened. I’m sure everyone has a hard time leaving the people they love, but I am convinced that I experience more emotional anguish in that process than most.

I sat tonight reading Trina’s brief mention of my numbered days in Athens, Oob’s recounting the fun from last night, Will’s comment about wanting to be here so badly, and considering my friend Sarah’s frequent away message about the people you love always being in your heart and “if you’re lucky, a plane ride away.”

And it finally really hit me what’s going on.

You know, Athens is a great place (many believe too good to be true). Few sights are more beautiful than College and Broad with your coffee cup and best friend, Sanford when the fans decide to finally show up, or anything at all on North Campus. I know I will miss the town and all of its beauty, charm, red and blackness, and all. But that’s not really the point.

The pain of leaving really is knowing what tremendous effort and planning will be spent achieving the pure bliss of beer, a perfect night, and the perfect smell of meat on a grill with the people you enjoy being around. The pain is in knowing that the spontaneous visit just to say hi or listen to a new tune will be much more difficult when I’m 250 miles away. The pain is in missing leftover chicken enchiladas with my neighbor, Gunner showing up when I have a crisis that I deem worthy of tears, Eva sitting on the granite bulldog like a coin-operated horse in front of a Big K. The pain is in missing Ellen and Russ cooking breakfast for whoever found him or herself at the house on the morning after a game. It’s in the way you all completely ignore the mess in my den or notice when the kitchen is clean.

Damnit, I wish there was another way to do this.

There are people in the world with real pain. There are victims of genocide, marines who must leave their families to fight a war that a little nagging part of their brain says might not be just. There are cancer patients, amputees, victims of horrible accidents and natural disasters. I feel petty to so much as mention my little heartache at all when real pain exists in the world.

And I guess that’s why I feel blessed… blessed that the greatest pain I know right now is that the spoils of my best friendships will be a little less convenient or less frequent.

So, my vote is that we should blow it out. We should take every opportunity to enjoy being where we are when we are, so the tears we cry in a few months will be happy ones for having created experiences worth remembering rather than sad ones for having not not appreciated the ones we loved in those few days when they were readily available to us. This is probably a good rule of thumb to practice anyway.

Yes, my shirt is wet and I’ve used a bit of tissue in writing this. This certainly won’t be the last time this happens. But I intend to do so while soaking up every last bit of the people that I love while it’s still easy to do so.

And rest assured, the minute I can afford the payments on a place here, I’ll be right back. And we’ll pick up… like nothing ever happened.