Yes, you ARE tall enough to ride this ride.

Well, my friends, it has been awhile. But as any good writer knows, one does need a muse to guide their creative meanderings.  Yet, admist the summer’s end and rush of a new school year, my blog, sadly, got lost in the shuffle. And how dare I! Especially as it’s already past it’s one year anniversary.  Especially when it’s been so very good to me.( and to all of you, I would hope).

October has found me sitting among packing boxes and writing a new chapter into my life. That’s right…this girl’s moving (and now has moved!) to Boston. Landed a job in the land of the Red Sox. That means that I will need to pack my well worn Yankees hat in the bottom of my suitcase where it should probably stay for awhile. Otherwise, I feel like my life would be threatened if I pull it out at a happy hour somewhere in South Boston.  Not that I plan on doing that, because I don’t really feel like getting stuffed in a trunk of a 79′ Chevy sedan just to get later dumped in the Charles by men in dark peacoats and woolen caps. I would rather start my new life in Beantown with a pint in my hand and waxing intellectual with Harvard grads. Okay. Maybe just the pint in my hand and waxing romantic with an Irish bartender. My brother said that he wore a Yankees shirt in Boston one time, and had garbage thrown at him from moving vehicles. For a girl that likes to joke, I’ll stick to tractor stories and cat showers, thank you very much. Sports jokes I will leave to professional columnists.

But I digress. I have now moved to a new place, a new job, a new city and a whole ‘nother way of looking at life through a big city lens.  When I was younger, I would beg to go on  roller coasters at amusement parks as soon I was tall enough to ride. (Nothing is more humilating than getting up to the line just to be rejected from riding because you’re too short. And your other friends are allowed to go on. Talk about a punch to the gut! It’s like seeing the man of your dreams in a bar and he hits on your friend instead). From down below on solid ground, roller coasters looked amazingly fun, exciting and thrilling. I felt that taking a ride on one would offer me a totally new perspective and also properly churn up in my stomach the ice cream and hot dog I had downed only an hour before. I would wait in line with my mom or dad, and the closer I would get to the front of the line, the heavier the hot dog would feel in my stomach. Suddenly, I didn’t want to go anymore.  Nausea would hit and I would get nervous and shaky. I kept saying to my mom “I don’t want to go anymore, I don’t want to go anymore. I changed my mind.” And my mother would say “Now, Leah, you begged me to stand in line and go on this ride with you. We are going. You got this far. Just try it.”  After being strapped in the car and the metal bars pressed against my non-existent chest, tears would well up in my eyes and the butterflies in my stomach suddently turned into eagles with wide wing spans. I would squeeze my eyes tight as the train of cars hitched up the track, inching closer and closer to the first drop. And suddenly, I would feel the drop and the sense of weightlessness it gave me as it zoomed into a loop and a double loop and then up and down another hill. When it was all over, I was laughing and no longer nervous. I would beg mom to go on again, but she declined, looking a little green around the gills.  I haven’t felt this feeling again until now. It was exciting at first, but then it became all too real. It hit me. I was moving. And not just across town. I was moving out of state, and away from a place I have called home for the past nine years.

I wanted to move to Boston about 8 years ago. In 2002, I looked at my then-boss and said “I’m giving you one  year here [at my current job], and then I’m out. I’m going to the big city.” And she just nodded, smirked, and said, “Okay.” Well, here I am. I was all set to go, and then God (or it could have been my BFF Carrie) grabbed the back of my shirt and said “Uh-uh. Not yet. You have some stuff to learn before I let you loose somewhere like Boston .” Funny how things work out that way. Because you see, without me realizing it, my chapter had only just begun at that point. My experiences in Syracuse can never be unwritten; my work, my students, (especially my students, God bless them) my romantic life, my friends. My friends! I sit here with a half-broken heart — excited to go, but bittersweet about who I will be leaving.  Best friends, past flames, family, students…it’s all what shaped me to be who I am today. And I’m postive that they have paved the way for me to get where I wanted to go in the first place.

This past month has been a whirlwind of emotion; excitement, anticipation, heartbreak, tears and goodbyes. Although, I’m never one to say goodbye. I always choose to say “see you later”. Goodbyes are such finalities! Even at funerals, I feel like saying ”goodbye” to the deceased still can pass for a “see you later”. Because, at some point, I’ll hopefully end up where they are and I can ask them how the pizza is or if the cutie on Cloud 9 is single (what? You don’t think people flirt in heaven?).  Every time I have experienced a long, drawn-out goodbye with someone, I end up bumping into them at the shopping mall two days later. And then, at that point, you kind of want to avoid them instead of going through the whole good bye process all over again. It’s a lot of work. And it’s a small world. Guaranteed, the people that you say goodbye to and wave a scarf out a train window at, you will see again sometime in your life. And often, it’s sooner than you think. Don’t assume that I have left not recognizing and appreciating what I have left behind. Au contraire. Again, those people and experiences have made me who I am. And let’s be frank. It’s what has made this blog.

Of course, God has a funny sense of humor. You would be surprised about who pops up right when you have sealed the tape on the box of CD’s, framed photos, and wine glasses. What timing when the ink isn’t even dry on your letter of resignation! And then, there is the fork in the road. You choose to take the path that has just suddenly been set and put in motion, but the forks that lie ahead of you is often what trips us up a bit. I ask myself, why can’t things just be cut and dry? Why, when someone has given me the opportunity to move forward, are there things that continue to draw us back a bit?  Have no doubt, I will have left with a clear mind and an open, albeit heavy, heart, but it’s not that the heart is without it’s mended seams. And those seams break  a bit. And just when you aren’t looking, a curveball is thrown your way…and makes you wish that the pitcher would choke on their own tobacco juice.

There is no doubt that I feel that a new city will not only bring a bright new job on the horizon – Ivy League, baby!- but, I would be kidding you all if I didn’t think that a big city also means more fish in the pond. However, the man upstairs always has a way of reminding me that I’m clearly not the one in charge around here. Regardless of what faith you may personally practice, I have tried to wrench the wheel from God a whole bunch of times. Doesn’t help. In fact, it only steers me further off my intended course. I can clearly see Him sighing with exasperation, saying “will you just please let me do this?” The time I have spent trying to figure out why things happen the way that they do, I could have spent that energy concentrating on the physics of splitting an atom. Wait, does an atom even have physics? See what I’m saying? I could be more knowledgeable on these things if I didn’t waste my time sitting around trying to figure out why people are put in our lives at the time that they are.

There have been times when I’ve thought; timing is everything. And there are times when I’ve thought; timing just sucks. The answer, I’m sure, is somewhere in between. If someone comes into my life right before a major life change, and makes me laugh, smile, feel safe in his arms and beautiful under the watchfulness of his warm eyes, …I give up wondering why the hell that happened. At some point, there is a method to all this madness. Perhaps it’s to show me the type of person I should be looking for in this bigger pond; perhaps it’s to simply demonstrate that it will happen when I least expect it. Perhaps its to test the boundaries of long distance. Or perhaps its just to show me that I’m capable of being loved again. And maybe that’s the biggest reason of all. Does there have to be a reason? Maybe the reason was to just allow myself to let go and enjoy myself. There was no pressure, no waiting around for him to call – cause let’s be clear, I have been packing, tying up loose ends up at work, saying my own shares of “see you laters”, there was no anxiety of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because, it already had. I was moving. And nothing was changing that. So anything that came after that, was completely up for both of us to grab. Mr. Right? I’m not sure. I’m not even sure if a  Mr. Right exists for any of us. However, I do know how I feel and how he made me feel. So let’s just call him Mr. Pretty Damn Close.

A week ago, I kissed Mr. Pretty Damn Close goodbye. I watched him walk down my steps and get into his car under the streetlamp on a street that is no longer my address. I saw him turn to look at me, wave and say “see you later”. I heard myself say “definitely”. Cause, you never know. You never know where the ride will take you next. But here’s a piece of advice; if you turn back and not take a chance, you will always wonder what if. And spending your life thinking about the what ifs are never as fun as the ride itself.

So, my friends, this blog continues; the spinning wheel spins. Stay with me in Boston, a place rich in history, culture and a love of their athletic teams. Buckle up; it will be fun! I promise. 

Leah A. Flynn, Copyright 2010