The Art of Ending

It’s the first of November and I don’t know what to think. In some ways, there’s that relief because I’m nearly at the end. On the other end, there’s that weird feeling like you’re going up a rollercoaster, and it’s not entirely pleasant but you know it has to happen in order to go down.

Knowing that the year only has two months left and knowing that I’ll be moving in a month and a half is a mix between freedom and grief. I wish there were a word for this. Maybe freif? Maybe griedom. I’ll work on this.

But I suppose that’s the same as any season; you have to say goodbye in order to say hello, and we really want the hello, even at the cost of a goodbye. Sometimes we choose not to say hello just so we don’t have to say goodbye and right now that doesn’t apply to me, because I know that my goodbye isn’t a forever goodbye, it’s just a goodbye that acknowledges distance, not lack of love.

I don’t really know what I’m thinking right now. It’s too late and I’m too tired (do antihistamines make you drowsy? Because I’ve been weirdly drowsy all week) and everything is too overwhelming and yet underwhelming at the same time, so I don’t know if I’m at a pivotal moment in life or if it’s unsubstantial in the grand scheme of things.

I don’t know if the crescendo is climbing or if it passed me by months ago. Did/will this year even hold a crescendo, or mere moments that make one really bizarre year? Will I look back and notice standouts, or will it just be one big year of small moments? And are these small moments even small at all?

I don’t know anymore. Last year I thought I had a clue, and now it’s just going backward.

On that note I wasn’t expecting to sing, have a great November, campers, and I’ll try to as well. 😊

Sarah xx