the time it takes to leave
santorini diaries > day 24
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it usually takes me a long time to leave. leave anything: a place, a relationship, a job, an entire world of the known. I have to think about leaving for days, weeks, or months - even years - there is so much ruminating, back and forth, so much friction and resistance.
choosing the unknown is always harder than the current reality - simply because it is unknown.
even if, a month ago, this world was a stranger to me.
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the act of leaving is a process (by now, a ritual) which begins the moment I ask the question: should I leave?
each world, once it becomes intimately known and inhabited, exerts its own gravitational pull on my psyche. even if I’m unhappy, I rarely will get up and just leave. my heart’s instinct is always to stay. and even now, after two years of nomadic living, after enough difficult relationships, and so much practice in leaving — the ritual of leaving is still hard. I think it always will be.
these last few days, I observed myself as I panicked about leaving the greek islands. should I leave? is it time to leave? I feel like I just got here, just settled into this life, this world, into myself. am I ready to return to the cities again?
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I came here in autumn. now it’s winter. I will have spent a total of two months on the islands - in near complete solitude. when I’m unsure whether or not to leave, I usually look for clues and messages from my environment. I hold the thought of leaving in my heart, and see if it sinks, or rises to the surface.
the best time to leave is usually before getting restless - to leave while still on a peak. somehow, it preserves some feeling for me; keeps the yolk of that world intact.
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the message I’m hearing now is: you came here and got exactly what you needed - learned all the lessons you needed to learn, met all the people you needed to meet - in the minimal amount of time possible. you are ready, even if you don’t feel ready.
and so, I watched as my internal ecosystem slowly tuned itself into preparing for departure: for movement, for change, for the continuation of a life in motion.
there is grief - island grief - in leaving a world surrounded by water, but there is also joy. there is some sense of knowing that the islands is a places I can - and will - always return to. I can leave worlds, but worlds do not leave me.
and so, will I leave - is never the question. the real question is: will I want to come back?
and for the islands, the answer is definitely - yes.
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