I don’t want to go home.
I really like Nashville, my job and my friends. I’m excited that my mom and my sister are in the same state, and it’s a beautiful, scenic state.
I just have enjoyed this opportunity to live two dreams simultaneously so much. I wrote a book and made a big loop across the western half of the United States with my family in a motorhome. Sigh. I hate for this to end.
Sadly, though, it’s time to go home and back to my full-time professor responsibilities. This will post on the day we will get home. Sniff. I’m not at all sad about being back home, but I am moping about leaving this extended spring, migrating to new sights and people each day.
As you can tell if you read this blog regularly, I’ve been mentally preparing (and grieving a little) for about a month. That’s how I process endings. I count down and think about it, and when it happens, I quickly shift to the next thing.
One of the interesting things that I have noticed that I am doing is figuratively packing up and cleaning up. I’ve cleared my laptop desktop to get ready for work. I’ve been clearing out and organizing my photos – 2,800 and counting from this trip, but I’ve gone back to photos from 2012 – setting up systems for work flow, and regularly seeing email inbox zero. I’ve tallied summary lists of states we visited, national parks, and people.
It has felt luxurious to have time to think and order my to do list, but I think that is how I am preparing myself to ease back into a busy schedule. It’s how I hope to make the transition easier. It’s how I am trying to keep the sabbatical pace and peace when I step back into juggling work and family. It’s how I am preparing for the transition.
Weirdly, now that the end is immanent and even though I would prefer to continue traveling in our 300 square foot home on wheels, I am ready. I am excited about teaching an intensive class next week. I am excited about starting a new play therapy podcast (something I’ve had time to plan and prepare). I am excited about interacting with students again.
I’m still nervous about losing this happy balance with family time, but I feel better equipped. Actually, I just feel better.
Really, aren’t those the best kind of endings? When you leave wiping a single tear because it hurts a little to go. When you look back because you aren’t quite ready to look ahead. When you avoid saying goodbye because you don’t want to admit that it is over. Aren’t those the best endings? It means that it was good, great even. It means it was meaningful and mattered. It means that something touched you deeply. It means that life is different, better, because of what you experienced. Yep, that’s the best kind of ending, so it must be a little sad. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be as good. I’m grateful to be sad about this ending.
God’s creation is a life-giving inhale for all of us, and Sabbath is the exhale.
Shelly Miller
