Die Walküre's

Ok, so I didn't exactly use that title correctly. But life has felt like an opera of late, and the drill-writing portion of it has felt like one big-ass, long, drawn out Wagner music drama - the kind that makes your ass so sore from sitting that you swear you'll never attend one again. Nevertheless, I finally find myself in Athens, at Walker's, on a Friday afternoon, at the convergence of eras.

Wow, I really wrote that.

Since last we talked, I have been to Florida and back on vacation with Meghan and my family, finished all but two of this summer's horn books (the rest should be done by Tuesday), packed all my belongings, moved to Marietta, and finished my lone drill book of the summer as my apartment sat packed in boxes. I sit in one of my favorite spots in the world, waiting for Meghan to arrive in Athens for a rehearsal and a wedding. After this, I will once again be at band camp. And finally, I'll be back in Marietta to start my fall, while Meghan begins school in earnest.

My one-year move to Athens has come to an end with no shortage of reminiscing about its events, doting on small pieces of real estate that hold significant personal meaning to my significant other and me, and general mourning of the necessity of moving on from my twice-adopted hometown to the location of Whatever Is Next. I have done a pretty good job of managing my little sadnesses, disguising the occasional unexpected lump in the throat as a cough, and subtly sweeping conversations of Athens off into the ether with timely changes of subject. I also twice managed to convince myself that this is not real: first by insisting that "the second we can move back, we are going back," and later by declaring myself a resident of the "Athens-Atlanta Area." Unfortunately, after being concerned earlier this week that Meghan was having a hard time with the move, I suddenly became a sobbing mess at the dinner table while simultaneously realizing that I was the one who wasn't handling it well.

She thought I was choking. And in a way she was right.

There are many times in which I have wished I could present myself as a true citizen of the world - wished that I could make myself out to be comfortable under any circumstances, willing to dive into new pools with no concern for what lies beneath, shaking the hands of total strangers, and lighting busy rooms with stories of foreign adventure and danger. I find myself mildly jealous of the adaptability of my friends who are from military families in that regard. They always seem to be able to walk into new situations and engage without hesitation. But if there is one truth about me, it is that I need familiarity in order to be happy.

I can hear all of my friends, having read the previous sentence, saying aloud, "Really? Shocker."

The bad news for people like me is that things are changing, regardless of whether or not I approve. The good news is that we adapt. Almost every time I move, things get like this. I run into every exposed sharp object in my new apartment. I encounter water leaking through my ceiling. I get confused about my actual location in the new Target which looks almost exactly like the one to which I am accustomed. But gradually, everything gets better because it too becomes familiar.

It's important for me to point out that I would move five hundred times and I would move five hundred more to be near the woman I love. And I know she would do the same for me. I choose to move because I choose permanent happiness over a discomfort that will remedy itself by simple repetition in a few weeks. Moreover, I am closer to the people I care about and enjoy the most than I have been at any point since college ended.

I really do recognize the necessity and benefits of change. Things end so other things can begin. Things change so we learn to appreciate moments when we are in them. Good things go away to make room for potentially better things. Cerebrally I get that. It is simply the way life works. There is no alternative.

But somewhere in the middle of my soul, there is a child that does not understand why people get sick, why relationships sour, why pets go away, and why we have to leave the places we love. And that, I suspect, isn't ever going to change.