Saying goodbye to a mattress.

About a month ago, I had discussed with my parents the idea of me moving back home in order to save some money, as you can assume — they (my mom was STOKED) were incredibly supportive, and showed up on Sunday morning with an empty car, trailer in tow, willing and able.

Fast-forward to a scene in my childhood bedroom, three hours later. I was sitting surrounded by everything I own to date (apart from what I still have stuffed in the trunk of my car). My parents and I had just been discussing what to do with my apartment mattress… until I found myself crying over it. With the simple realization that I wouldn’t need this particular, familiar, and selfishly full-sized mattress where I’m headed, some semblance of panic and loss took over. On the surface of a shag rug, I let out unsure tears, holistically questioning what the heck I am doing. I sat and questioned the details, the generality, and the answers I had found months ago but felt required to reassure. I found unforeseen con’s, arguments for the pro’s, I played out irrational situations, let my mind explore scenarios of disaster and disappointment, unfounded on any real concern or worry, truly just overwhelmed by the magnitude of what’s ahead.

So today I remind myself of why I’m going. Of each face that has looked up at mine in longing and in love, each conversation that’s been shared on a bunk bed, a front porch step, and a computer screen that’s an ocean away. I’ve pulled out a box that has notes written to “Alisa”, pictures of captured giggles and hugs that I can still feel if I close my eyes, and a bracelet with beads that have individually lost meaning, but collectively are a piece of some Guatemalan girl’s heart. And so I’m sure I will wake up again tomorrow with an anxious mind, but go to sleep knowing that I will always be able to find my way back to the reasons that pushed me to consider going in the first place, and that’s enough for now.

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