Leaving Home

I wanted to get into the JET Programme more than anything, and now that I have accomplished that goal I can't describe how great I feel. I don't have any reservations about moving to Japan. It's a dream come true. That said, I am really really really going to miss my friends in Evansville. It didn't hit me all that hard at our farewell party, possibly because so many people showed up and something was always going on. There wasn't time to just sit around and pout about seeing people for the last time. Last night and this morning though, saying goodbye to friends individually tore me up.

Before leaving my house this morning, despite the fact that I was running well behind schedule as usual, I just kinda stood in my empty kitchen and stared at our refrigerator. Not long ago, it was so cluttered with magnets, photos, weird drawings, and kitschy postcards that one could hardly tell what color it was supposed to be. Back when our fridge was decked out like that, the kitchen was orange rather than the drab beige our realtor picked out. We'd painted it to match a retro '70s mushroom kitchen set we were collecting. This morning, the house was looking pretty lifeless, but I could still see it in my mind the way it had been before. I looked around and thought about all the crazy things that had gone down in that house. My throat was hurting really bad, the way it does when you're trying hard not to cry. Two of my best friends, Andy and Brannon, were outside waiting on me, and my wife Morgan was trying to convince me to get going. I had already been up all night packing, or at least pacing around the house while my wife packed for me. I was experiencing a painful mixture of sleep deprivation and premature homesickness.

I did a quick run through of the house I had lived in since I was in the first grade, as though I was making sure I hadn't left anything important behind. Really though, I trusted that Morgan had packed everything. I was giving my old home one last look before leaving it--trying to cement it in my mind so I wouldn't forget anything. With all the stress and rush of moving, I don't feel like I had time for a proper goodbye. I wanted to dwell on it. It's probably better that I had to rush out in a hurry though. I sat in the back seat and tried to hide the fact that I was crying while we pulled out of the driveway. I thought to myself that this was the last time I'd ever pull out of that old driveway, but even that I wasn't able to dwell on. I was distracted by a stubborn seat belt that wouldn't pull out.

So, here I am at a Super 8 in Chicago, typing up this first depressing blog entry. The house I left behind in Evansville isn't my home anymore, and I won't see my new apartment in Fukuyama for a few more days. In a way, that makes me feel a little bit homeless.