Feeling something

Well, the inevitable has come to pass: though I spent nearly three years resisting it, I must finally throw up my hands and say, "alright, Missoula. You got me." I have become attached to this town. Its rivers, its mountains, its flora, its people. The talk of fires and forests and hiking. The floating and beer drinking and enjoying life. The music. The music I make in it. And the sun (it does amazing things here). I realize now, I think, what happens to people in this place.

I'm realizing that I'll be leaving things that I really and truly love. Playing with Vanguard. Singing songs with people I know. Doing it in the environment that Missoula provides.

And this, of course, would happen right as I'm about to leave. I'm not ready to be torn up by the roots. Because they've been extending deeper down without my noticing. I've been distracted by the good times that cultivate those things, I guess.

Maybe this is good. Maybe this is okay. What did my friend Lindsey say? "I want to feel like I've lived in a place. I want to feel like I'm leaving part of myself behind when I go." Something like that. It scares me to death, that idea. But I suppose at this point I won't be able to help it.

I was going to title this post "feeling sorrowful," and then "feeling alive," and then "feeling wary..." But it's all of those, and more. It's a huge flood of emotions: happiness, sadness, gratefulness, silliness, loneliness, vibrancy, confusion, terror, contentedness... and so many other things. I'm scared to move. Not only because I'm going to New York City (which is terrifying in itself), but because I will be leaving Missoula. Missoula feels safe now. Which I suppose is reason enough to make my way into the rest of the world.

Pandora just threw Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" at me. How fitting. "Can I handle the seasons of my life?" it asks. I know I can. And I will succeed. I'm confident in what I'm doing. I'm excited and thrilled by the possibilities the City holds. I just need to break out beyond this beautiful, endearing, last best place. I'm pretty sure it will be here waiting for me when I need it.

Futile

Rhyming and not quite rhyming. I call it stylistic. Or something.

It creeps ever closer

And so. We are moving towards New York... in that jobs are being sought, visits are being made, plans are just (just) starting to become mapped out in our minds. And it's so loose and looming that everything seems intimidating. Even thinking about it is intimidating. But the summer is approaching. Soon, I won't have the excuse of school to hide behind. Soon, I'll have to apply to every job I can, treating each application as if it could be the diamond in the dunghill of resumes these people have to sift through. It's exhausting to work up that much fake-excitement about being an administrative assistant. Even if I am applying for a job at Carnegie Hall.

Conveniently, I have some wonderful references. Thankfully, I have a supportive family and husband. Sadly, I'm starting to realize that leaving Missoula means leaving Missoula. And all the people I know and love. I actually made friends here at some point along the way...

I've been trying to remind myself (when I forget) that I should enjoy every moment for what it is. The rain. The time with friends. Times I get to be by myself. Times I get to walk outside. Taking in those moments is a big part of being content, I think. But it is hard to avoid the feelings of impending sadness. They say, "you're leaving soon! Look at how much you'll miss!" and then I wallow. (Isn't that a great word? wallow. Like slopping through big puddles of mud. In rain boots. Kind of fun, if you think about it.)

But why, oh why, wouldn't I instead spend my time enjoying the next few weeks, months, whatever we have, in the space I'm in right now? Why can't those thoughts be a motivating factor, reminding me to really enjoy the moment? Let's mark a turning point here. Time for enjoyment, not wallowing. Even if it is a fun word.