MASS. MIGRATION

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MASS MIGRATION: a long drive & flying leaps into the unknown

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Who knew leaving our home of 15 years would be painful?

Cozy, colorful 1807 Blake Street — a labor of love and thrifting, the site of communal meals and card games and family time and silliness.

After a rough arrival on Thanksgiving Day 2008 and a lengthy adjustment period, the Bay Area became ours, the place where we raised two amazing humans and cultivated a beautiful community.

We knew saying goodbye would suck, but we didn’t know how much. So many farewell parties, so many venues, so many final highlights: final Good Hot, final Bolinas, final dip in the ocean, final crabbing adventure, final boozy, silly girls’ night out, final Oakland Yard, final dinner with Diego (thank you, Sujatha!), final supper party (thank you, Eric and Ericka), final breakfast and an epic fridge clean (shout out Julia and Max).

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Final, final, final. My brain has a hard time with endings. It wants to weasel its way out of the sadness and discomfort. Last Friday, I was riding high, basking in the warmth, goodness, and goofiness of a magical send-off Shabbat at Margi and Michael’s house. By today, I was teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown as I wiped down now-empty, dusty surfaces and shoved underwear and tights and sweaters into a comically large pink suitcase. I went out with a whimper (mine.)

More often than not, lingering in the liminal spaces, the in-betweens, the pauses feels rich and wonderful. Right now, it feels kind of yucky. I feel numb, hollowed-out, and exhausted. I’m neither here or there. If I were home, I’d be out on the town or curled up with a cup of tea. I’d have made plans to go to a silly exercise class or a hike. Instead, I am sitting in an OK, Cali-sleek hotel room, thinking about people I adore and wondering when I’ll talk to them again and how it’s going to be living across the country from each other.

The truth is I have a lot of practice with leaving. With going far away. I’ve done it all my life, far more often than most people. That doesn’t make it easy.

The drive from Berkeley was a bit of a blur. Dark green hills, full white moon, tangerine sky. Leaving can be beautiful, like a purple bruise.