On Leaving, and Returning Home.

Sometimes I am surprised at how quickly I become attached to certain people and places. I usually don't see it coming: my interactions occurred in specific episodes rather than through constant exposure; it was only two weeks, not years. As I left Hambidge last night I felt a pull in my heart which made me realize how much I would miss that place and my fellow residents.

I think my independence is a personal strength. I am aware of the influences others have on me but remain determined to shape my own experience. The kindnesses of my companions in Georgia and their willingness to share and inspire have shaped me more than I have yet realized.

At the same time leaving felt right, and I was ready, prepared to endure the 15 hour train ride north. There have been other times in my life when I've had to leave a situation or a place and it felt like I was being ripped out of my proper place, like pulling a sapling out by the roots. That's far more difficult than the sadness of leaving a good thing at the appropriate time.

I'm happy to be home. My mailbox is overflowing, my houseplants are miraculously still alive, and everything is in order except for an enormous ice growth in the back of my fridge that apparently I have to deal with... later. I've been resting and settling back in and I'll be getting back to my regular schedule this week. There will be a period of reflecting, shuffling, and sorting through the work produced in the past couple of weeks and there will be moving on. For now, I'm tired, mostly satisfied, and feel a bittersweet sadness in my heart.