Remember how some kids just used to Get It? They said the right thing, made good decisions, and by 18 they were already more together than anyone else. Louw and I were the kids who assumed that our 20s were a kind of extended Rumshpringa, and that by 30 we’d understand how things work.
Big surprise, we’re approaching 40 and we’re still not sure.
Currently cruising 12192 meters above the ocean, we’re just a couple hours away from Calary, and even now we have to pinch ourselves to accept that after four years of planning and agonising limbo, we’re actually doing The Thing.
It’s a very weird experience to fly out at 1.30pm, travel for about 10 hours and then land at 2.30pm the same day. The view out the window is a persisting twilight that’s neither coming or going. Could be dusk, could be dawn – this is what time travel looks like. The sun melting hot everywhere we fly, and the clouds wallowing in its embers.
I feel a total lightness now that the goodbyes are over. They weighed so heavy. I never imagined how the emotions would affect me, because when we first got our nod we were just the most excited to have a totally new slate on our horizon. The closer we got to D-day though, the more my heart made itself known.
Taking that last look at the people I’ve shared my early years of motherhood with, and saying those final words – man, that killed me. But then again, I felt so loved when I heard my friends wish me well, and pray for things they knew would be hard for me. It gave me courage.
To know you’re going to be missed is a hella nice feeling – especially when you generally walk away from social interactions thinking that you shouldn’t have said x or reacted that way to y.
It’s obviously irrational to cry in times like these, because the head understands the bittersweet feels. That knowledge doesn’t stop the flow though, and I feel so bolstered by the goodbyes and kind messages I’ve received. The tears are wholesome and sacred.
Also, in-flight wine doesn’t hurt…
Sitting here so far away from the leaving and the sadness, I feel an overwhelming excitement taking hold. I remember the first time we went to Canada – back in 2011. Louw and I stayed with his mom in a tiny town in BC – not unlike South Park. We walked to the shops one evening and saw the full moon shining on the Rocky Mountains and I knew I wanted to see that again and again. Silver dust a million meters above my head – I’ll never forget.
The children are snoozing, on me and at my feet, while Louw watches Rick and Morty across the aisle. I get the feeling I won’t have this kind of peace and quiet again for a long time. Just going to sit here and watch the sun glow weird out the window.