We’ve all experienced this moment: you’re walking down the street with someone. It can be a friend, maybe an acquaintance or maybe someone you only just met. When you think the time has come, you wave goodbye. But (and now you may have figured out where I’m going with this), it turns out you’re actually walking in the same direction. You point ahead and explain where you’re both going, and proceed to laugh, pretending it’s funny when it’s really just pretty awkward. When you actually go different ways, you have no idea what to do. Do you say goodbye again? You already said it once, so it seems redundant. Yet you found out that the first goodbye actually didn’t hold any significance, and you figure it would be kind of rude to just run away without acknowledging the separation. So you do it again. Only just sort of.
Leaving for college a second time felt a lot like this. Last August, I treated my departure as the huge deal I perceived it to be. I packed a week in advance and spent the next few days worrying about whether I should bring a flashlight in case the power went out and trying to figure out how many Band-Aids I was going to need over the course of the year (it didn’t occur to me at the time that I would be able to buy things in New York City). I carefully scheduled time in my last week to see virtually everyone I had ever met, trying my best to make sure that I didn’t leave anyone behind without saying goodbye first.
This year I threw whatever happened to be around my room into boxes two days before move-in and hoped for the best. I hung out with the same few friends I had actually seen regularly over the summer and said casual goodbyes from the passenger seats of their cars. I ate waffles with my family on the morning I left, exchanged hugs, and hopped in the car without too much hesitation.
So what exactly changed? The scenario was essentially the same: I was leaving home to go to school, to live on my own for a while before returning home for breaks. True, this time I was used to school and to the city, already had friends there, was used to being on my own. Maybe what I was heading into was a little different. What I was leaving behind was essentially the same.
What I realized was that my first goodbye last August didn’t mean exactly what I thought it did at the time. I was saying goodbye to being a permanent resident of my hometown, to my high school, to being a kid. I wasn’t really saying goodbye to my family, my friends, my bed at home, or my favorite local spots. I knew they would all be there when I visited. As for the things that I actually never would get back after last August, I couldn’t very well say goodbye to them again if they weren’t there.
Maybe that extra minute or so that you walk beside your friend is a little awkward. Still, it’s an extra minute you get to spend with them. It’s an extra minute to realize that goodbyes aren’t always permanent, and don’t have to be that hard.
