Last Tuesday I woke up with a feeling of heaviness, realizing that the time I had left during my trip to Costa Rica had come to a close. Up to now, I had been doing pretty well handling my emotions. Last year, it was a full two weeks prior to my departure that I cried uncontrollably. In random moments throughout the day, I would find myself bursting into tears, thinking about the future and it not being the same. This year, it didn’t really hit me until a few days prior. I pushed off packing until the night before my flight, not wanting to face the reality that within a little more than 24 hours I’d find myself in a much cooler place where I couldn’t just throw on a tank top and get started with my day.
I’m writing today on my personal blog instead of for Mezclada, where I’ve been writing about my experiences for the last several months, but mostly from the perspective of financial literacy and mindfulness. The reason is that today’s topic, which it has a lot to do with mindfulness, is much more personal.
The lesson I have to share is one that I am still grappling with, struggling with, wrapping my head around. Good byes, even after my 28 years of life, have not gotten any easier. And I think I’ve found that as I live my life more fully and embrace more deeply the highs and lows, that they become even more intense.
I’ll never forget when I left my sister in Australia almost five years ago. I bawled my eyes out for probably 12 of the 14 hours of the longest flight, realizing that there were so many things I left unsaid, that I missed her so much and that the time we shared together was truly lovely. I knew an experience like that wasn’t going to happen again. And I think that’s part of what made it so challenging to pull away from her apartment. “Don’t die” was her advice as my taxi pulled up. I’m still laughing at her farewell.
“Te voy a extrañar mucho” were my last words today, but they should have been “I’ll see you soon. I love you. Happy birthday.”
Sometimes there’s people that leave an indelible mark on your heart, even when they’re not physically present with you, and I think I’ve met one of those people. Saying goodbye, even for a weekend, I found, is so hard, even when you know you’re coming back.
When you’ve lost people in your life, you start to think about good byes in a different way. Because you start to question whether it’s going to be the last one. If you’ll actually have the chance to see that individual again, give them a fierce hug, laugh with them, cry with them, share stories and memories.
But here’s the thing. I feel like I’m growing in my maturity level, or at least my ability to navigate good bye’s. And the reason is this: I’ve done A LOT of work on coming to terms with and navigating my emotions, having curiosity for what I feel instead of judgement, and accepting that some days just aren’t good ones.
Sometimes you have sad days. And that’s okay. What’s not okay is finding ways to escape from the pain that are unhealthy, filling your mind and time with content so that you don’t face what’s actually going on. One of the biggest themes I find that connects all of these moments is that it’s not just a goodbye. It’s the change that comes with the goodbye.
So here’s my word of advice - mostly to myself - but also for readers that inevitably will find themselves in a similarly emotionally sticky situation. Lean into the pain of change. Sit with it. Revel in it. Don’t feel like there’s something wrong with you for being sad. Let the tears flow. Sit in the gratitude of the good moments you had and know that more are on their way. Savor the times when you have the opportunity to say what’s on your mind. And recognize that it’s actually never too late. Even if the person you want to talk with doesn’t exist anymore in the physical plane…
I find that as I’ve lost people who are dear to me, I have access to them at any time that I want. I just have to believe that they are there with me, responding as they always would. It’s comforting, and it can often help me when I’m struggling.
Whatever this looks like for you, you do you. Make your process your own, whether that means going for a walk, listening to music, playing an instrument, immersing yourself in nature, meditating, etc.
Know that you’re not alone, and that there’s always a loving spirit within you that’s wrapping its arms around you, giving you the comfort you need.
I found it incredibly serendipitous that within a day of drafting this post, I stumbled across a podcast episode through Counter Cultural that resonated with everything I'm saying. I hope that, should you choose to listen to this, Jas' words will similarly feel like a big hug and a permission slip to feel, to give yourself the comfort you need, to set healthy boundaries, and to lean into curiosity for your emotions.
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