Here I am bidding a proper farewell to my coffee maker. We've had many good times. I really wanted to kiss it goodbye, so I did. And I'm not ashamed.*********************************************************************************
I've never been good at goodbyes. I avoid them, hurry them, or mar them with much awkwardness. I hold back the exuberant hug and kiss I want to give. Or I stumble stupidly through the physical motions. I wish I had more grace in such times. And guts.
A few examples:
Bye-bye best friend: I was 14 when I moved from my childhood home, leaving behind my bestest friend in the entire world. I was stoic as I lightly hugged her and waved as she drove away from my house for the last time. Too stoic. Did she even know I felt like I was dying inside? Did I ever tell her that, after she left, I ran down to my room and packed all its contents in a fit of teary teenage angst?
Do I regret such raw emotion? No. I just wish I'd let it show more. Lindsey, if you read this, please know that was a stinky day for me. And I missed you like crazy before you even pulled around the corner.
Couldn't hug my camp crush: When I was 15, I worked at a Christian camp in Montana. I was a crew girl. And, by summer's end, I was madly in love with this certain crew boy. We're talking major crush. But I was shy. I never even hinted I liked him. He never knew I admired how hard he worked, or that I thought he had the sexiest hands I'd ever seen.
Then came the goodbyes. It was my last chance to leave an impression on him. You know, shoot for some far-flung chance at a late-blooming letter romance. We were both moving down the line of hugging camp staff. I side hugged a counselor. I patted a fellow crew girl on the back. I was determined to be cool when this boy and I came face to face.
And then, he was there. "Hug?" he said. "Yeah," I answered, eking out a smile. This was it. This was my chance. I went right -- but so did he. I went left; so did he. "Wanna dance?" I joked, nervously. "What?" he answered, barely able to hear my mouse whisper.
Never mind. The line moved on. I felt like a ninny for years.
But, in an up note, we did write letters. Lots of them. And we're friends to this day.
Splittin' quick: Have I mentioned yet that I'm kind of shy? I tend to wither under too much attention. And not just mentally. My face gets red and hot. My heart moshes within. Any capacity for coherent words is lost.
Okay, maybe I exaggerate just a bit. But attention isn't my favorite thing. Typical writer, I guess.
When I left my post as a features reporter at the Casper Star-Tribune, I had to leave a really wonderful church family. But, in some attempt to divert attention, I didn't tell them until my last Sunday in town. Then I told just a few folks and split that afternoon.
I wish I could do it again. I wish I could convey my deep appreciation for all the people who inspired me there. If any of you happen to read this, please know I would have loved to bid a fond farewell. I would have loved your attention because your very existence made mine better.
Kiss him, fool: I'll keep this one short. I just want to say that I think kissing your boyfriend goodbye is perfectly acceptable. Be it a peck on the cheek or a leg-lifting, hands in the hair smacker, go for it. I wish I had. Because I desperately wanted to.
Now that we've peeked at some of my sayonara slip-ups, let me try to do it right this time.
I recently took a job in Denver, Colorado. For that, I'm excited. It should be a sweet job with solid co-workers. I'm looking forward to some urban living, some coffee shop goodness, and some new adventures. I move in a week.
But, I'm moving from my small Wyoming town. And, frankly, that sucks. I've been fighting those tumultuous good-bye emotions all week, feeling ashamed at how much I'm struggling to want to leave.
Today, though, I realized I shouldn't be ashamed of my sadness.
My parents are here, and I love them dearly. I am thankful for all our times together, and for all they've taught me. And I never really minded sharing a bathroom. There is bonding in group tooth brushing.
My mentor, Liz, is here. We have lunch and prayer time every week. I am going to miss that more than I can even express. I love you, Liz.
My good friends are here.
Sarah, I will miss your questions and enthusiasm. I will miss your hospitality and honesty. I will miss your depth of thought and your ever-ready willingness to have an adventure.
Dave, I will miss the way you tilt your head when thinking about what to say. I will miss the way you can ham it up for a photograph. I will miss your balance of practicality and go-get-em attitude.
Becky, I will miss our walks. I will miss the spontaneity of our friendship and your encouraging words. And your hugs, sister. You give the best hugs.
Nathan, I will miss your quiet example of what it means to be a God-fearing man. Please hug Becky extra for me.
Josh, I will miss your stories, borderline unbelievable though they are. I think that just means you've really lived life.
John, I will miss you. I will miss being able to throw about any idea at you and having you be game to give it a try. I will miss coffee and biking and softball and movies and road trips. I will miss just talking and joking.
I have been abundantly blessed here in small-town Wyoming. I look forward to the future. And I look forward to keeping up with you all via phone and facebook. But gosh dang, I'm going to miss seeing you.
I just want to be honest about that.
I want to say everything I want to say. I want to bid a proper farewell -- in word, at least. If I collide with you in our final hug -- or step on your toes or cry a bit too much -- you'll have to forgive me. I mean well.