This segment titled Alphabet Soup: The alphabet according to someone with very little shame and a lot of time on her hands was inspired by blogger Mandy Wallace and the Writers of Kern A to Z challenge. Enjoy!
It’s Friday night, readers and I’m all cozy in bed after a day of doing very little. Yesterday was one of those rare days when I’m called in for work and it was brutal, partly because it’s hard work, but also because my boss was being particularly annoying. Say what you will, but I think I’ve earned a day of doing nothing. *shrugs*
People say that the only thing certain in life is death, the fact that everything ends. A few days ago, as I rummaged around the mess that is my room for a notebook, I found a journal with farewell messages from high school. I remember passing the notebook around to people and asking them to write something, anything really. It was an attempt to preserve slivers of a time that had been both good and bad, as high school usually is. I collected messages from close friends, people I sort of knew, teachers I cherished.
Looking back I remembered so many moments, so many promises. Goodbyes that were never meant to last forever. Friendships that changed, because we couldn’t change with them. Which is not to say we haven’t changed, but rather that we changed to different frequencies. Sweet words that were written by people who are irrelevant to me now, as maybe they should have been then. I remembered that high school felt like something that would go on forever, that college felt the same way.
Except things still end. They grass may be greener, but it’s never green enough to make things last forever. And so we still say goodbye. To the people we love. To the people we can no longer accept in our lives. To our old selves, with our old habits, and our old flaws. In the end, metaphorical and not, I think we must mean our farewells.
As I read through the pages of my journal, as I remembered each and every person who took the time to share those few words with me, I couldn’t help but wish them well. And I don’t know that I truly wished them well then, but I do now. Blurred by nostalgia, the past makes better people of everyone who didn’t hurt us quite enough to be permanently deemed bad.
Today, as I write this, I remember all the farewells I’ve said since and the ones I haven’t had the chance to say. The ones that were necessary. The ones that happen every once in a while. The ones that are yet to come as the inevitable happens and things end. But most of all, I think of the small ones. The see you laters, the I’ll be back soon, the you won’t even notice I’m gone. Those are the ones that scare me the most because they’re never meant to be anything other than temporary, until they’re suddenly not.
So, whether we’re at the end of the road or right in the middle of it. Whether you’ve stepped out for a few minutes or you’ll be gone for a few days. Fare well. And come back.