You've connected to my new blog. I'm not sure how people start these things, and something about writing a blog feels awfully self-congratulatory... like, who wants to hear about my life enough to actually read this stuff? But then I figure, if I was going through what I'm going through (and I am, after all), I'd like to stumble upon someone else's description of their own journey. I'd find comfort in that.
And then, it's not as if I'm going to strap anyone down to their computer and force them to read about my tragedies, heartache, and unanswered questions. If you're reading this and you're curious and you connect to something in it, either because you know me or because you've gone through some similar experience of loss and recovery, then thank you. If you're bored already, no one is forcing you to read this, so feel free to close the browser and move along.
I'm writing this blog because I'm embarking on an adventure that is not altogether exciting. After four years - almost five - of loving and caring for and living with my partner, Catherine (hereby referred to as "Tex"), and two years of doing so in Austin, TX, I'm quitting my job, packing my car, and moving back home to Massachusetts.
This decision seems to have come fast, but it's agonizing nonetheless. I have a job here, one that doesn't pay particularly well but that challenges me and that I'm good at. I have a little house that I adore, though I don't own it: a two-bedroom place with hardwood floors and big windows and a little garden out back, full of the things that Tex and I have acquired since graduating college/grad school (respectively). I have friends, I have an intimate knowledge of where the TCBYs are in this city and where to get my margaritas (Chuy's are the best, El Arroyo's are the cheapest), a favorite cafe (Cherrywood Coffeehouse on 38 1/2), a favorite place for breakfast tacos (Guadalajara on N. Lamar). I have a woman I've loved deeply and commitedly for years.... I have a whole life. It's a life that has been very intentionally formed over the past two years. And now I'm leaving it.
The details of that decision, its reasons and repercussions, are the topic of this blog. Tex and I are parting amicably, for the most part - she has a sweet, compassionate heart and understands that this is something I "just have to do." We're in the midst of trying to say a beautiful goodbye, as I tie up the loose ends and move away from everything I know. This is perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done, including when I left to live in Israel alone for a year. It's hard because I'm giving up a life I love in response to what feels like a call to come home. I have no idea what's there hollering out that call, yoddling into the night for me to return. But I'm trying to trust it - and in the process, trusting the waves of grief and pain that wash over me. I feel them with amazing clarity, and they all but knock me over.
In two weeks I'll drive away from this neighborhood, this life, this woman, forever. This is an invitation for you to come with me. If you want to know the intricacies of my grief, and whatever adventures ensue in this bizarre situation, please tag along. I could use some company.
And then, it's not as if I'm going to strap anyone down to their computer and force them to read about my tragedies, heartache, and unanswered questions. If you're reading this and you're curious and you connect to something in it, either because you know me or because you've gone through some similar experience of loss and recovery, then thank you. If you're bored already, no one is forcing you to read this, so feel free to close the browser and move along.
I'm writing this blog because I'm embarking on an adventure that is not altogether exciting. After four years - almost five - of loving and caring for and living with my partner, Catherine (hereby referred to as "Tex"), and two years of doing so in Austin, TX, I'm quitting my job, packing my car, and moving back home to Massachusetts.
This decision seems to have come fast, but it's agonizing nonetheless. I have a job here, one that doesn't pay particularly well but that challenges me and that I'm good at. I have a little house that I adore, though I don't own it: a two-bedroom place with hardwood floors and big windows and a little garden out back, full of the things that Tex and I have acquired since graduating college/grad school (respectively). I have friends, I have an intimate knowledge of where the TCBYs are in this city and where to get my margaritas (Chuy's are the best, El Arroyo's are the cheapest), a favorite cafe (Cherrywood Coffeehouse on 38 1/2), a favorite place for breakfast tacos (Guadalajara on N. Lamar). I have a woman I've loved deeply and commitedly for years.... I have a whole life. It's a life that has been very intentionally formed over the past two years. And now I'm leaving it.
The details of that decision, its reasons and repercussions, are the topic of this blog. Tex and I are parting amicably, for the most part - she has a sweet, compassionate heart and understands that this is something I "just have to do." We're in the midst of trying to say a beautiful goodbye, as I tie up the loose ends and move away from everything I know. This is perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done, including when I left to live in Israel alone for a year. It's hard because I'm giving up a life I love in response to what feels like a call to come home. I have no idea what's there hollering out that call, yoddling into the night for me to return. But I'm trying to trust it - and in the process, trusting the waves of grief and pain that wash over me. I feel them with amazing clarity, and they all but knock me over.
In two weeks I'll drive away from this neighborhood, this life, this woman, forever. This is an invitation for you to come with me. If you want to know the intricacies of my grief, and whatever adventures ensue in this bizarre situation, please tag along. I could use some company.
