Leaving

It's official. It's happening. We're really leaving. As if all the farewells and parties and the constant lump in the back of my throat weren't enough to convince me, now I know it's true. They came yesterday to take away the boxes, others come today to pick up donations and freebies, and then on Friday morning they will take away our keys. And we will pay the taxi fare with our last bits of Hong Kong cash, we will pass through immigration with our Hong Kong identity cards for the last time, and we will board a plane.

All these "lasts" are killing me. Really now, to choke up over the last time I wash the mugs we've drunk tea out of for three years, the last time I fold Finn's bright red sheet? --(all of which are getting donated.) It's silly, I know, to get so attached to physical things, but attached I do. These items hold memories for me so profoundly that I have to remind myself over and over that letting go of the object doesn't mean letting go of the memory.

I have been a mess of mixed-up emotions for weeks now--sometimes (surprisingly) fighting panic as I think about leaving here and returning to the states. The panic stems in part, I'm sure, from all the newness, all the transitions facing our little family in the next few months. But in rereading early blog posts, I found something that explains it even more. You see, we talked a lot about this move (to Hong Kong) as a chance to step off the escalator (ironic, I know, given the blog's name.)

Despite the fast pace and direction of Hong Kong culture, it very much was a slow-down time for us. We took a sabbatical from any volunteer commitments, and simply tended to our child, ourselves, our discovery of a new city and culture, and our own thoughts. It was a chance to think and discern and figure out our life's direction, and it was wonderful. We have learned so very much about other people and other ways of doing things (parenting, teaching, living) and so very much about ourselves. And slowly, slowly, a dream has emerged for us. A sense of call--though it's scary to name it as such. A life vision.

And so going back to America? Yes, there is excitement about all the good things awaiting us--family, a yard, a new community, an oven. (An oven!) And yes, there is excitement about starting real work on our dream. But there's also that panicky anxiety about stepping back on the proverbial escalator. Will we just get so caught up in everyday life that we stop noticing the beauty around us? Will we still have the luxury of so much time together? Will we stop thinking and talking about our dream once we have to change the oil in the car and vacuum a whole house and mow the lawn?

Part of this has to do with the difference between living somewhere temporarily and living there on a long-term basis. When you are temporary, you notice more, you see all the strange and wonderful things, and when you get into a rut (as we all do)--there's always something to shake you out of it. Some new island to hike, a new restaurant to discover, a new street to explore. But while you may make friends quickly, you also don't engage on quite the same level. It was easy to not volunteer, to not seek out opportunities, knowing our time was short.

 And though I feel a pull towards the depth of knowing a place (not just noticing it) and of involving myself with people and putting effort into issues that matter to me, I'm frightened, too. I'm frightened of the time it will take, frightened by the barrage of volunteer requests that come from joining an organization. A little frightened of boredom, knowing that we hope to stay in Ohio a good long time.

So all of that is very real, yes. But mostly right now we feel confident that we are making the right move, at peace with the transitions required, so very grateful for our time and lives here, and profound sadness at leaving. This is Willa's first home, after all. And where Finn has lived most of his life. My mama friends here have helped me grow into motherhood, have prayed with me when things were tough and celebrated the little victories with me too. So I expect that little lump will be with me for a few more days yet. And that's ok. As someone once told me, feeling sad about leaving just means you lived well there. And that we have.