First Goodbyes

Here’s the thing:

When I think about this journey abroad, from the time I landed in Glasgow to the first week of freshers to fall break and all the trips in between, I’m overwhelmed (and proud) of the long, long time I’ve experienced Scotland.

This month I challenged myself to be in the moment. Day by day. Take nothing for granted and pray that weeks move slow. After all, I live here, right? Schedules become routine. I communicate with a handful of people, go to the local Tesco, take the same bus route, and manage an inevitable “normal” that arrives when you build a life in any town.

Just when I’m ready to call Stirling home, it is slowly stripped from me.

Sunday. Two weeks until my flight back to North Carolina. I visit the Baptist church downtown and then meet some girls for lunch at Mint Patisserie, our local favorite. It’s a sunny day, but my emotions are dreary. I’m saying goodbye to one of my best travel buddies.

After an hour of tea, paninis, and cakes, we leave the warm cafe and head to the bus stop. I ask my friend if she needs help packing (which, of course, she does) and join her in the stress and excitement of stuffing a suitcase full of clothes and souvenirs. She’s the first friend I’ve had to say goodbye to; she’s one of many who plan to return, studying for an entire year. I can’t describe the feeling of watching her leave, knowing I still have time to enjoy the country, and remembering that she’ll be back to explore when I’m gone. It’s an all-encompassing, eerie mix.

Monday is a day of rest (like today — I’ve only met a flatmate for tea this morning). Tuesday I get out, and yesterday I joined two more friends in Edinburgh for Christmas shopping, but between the train trips and the last-minute plans I realized a disappointing truth.

Scotland is my new normal.

The accents, the shopping brands, the small and large cities have become something familiar rather than a foreign thrill. I want to feel the intense wonder that travel planted in my soul. I want to be amazed by the stone architecture, the double-decker buses, the red telephone poles, but put simply, I no longer notice them.

I told myself that this week would be relaxed. I’ll take my time enjoying life here. Acting like a local. Still, now the two friends I went shopping with yesterday left for vacation, and there’s a larger gap between the places I see and the people who experience those places with me.

Today is a gorgeous, blue sky day, and I just want to sleep. I just want to rest and watch Netflix and plan for the trips ahead. The inner voices of my mind yell in scorn; I should take advantage of every minute I have left. But what is there to do? Go spend money at a cafe, only to sit in the dark on my laptop rather than under the light inside my room? Beg a friend I’m going out with tonight to hang at my kitchen? The normalcy of living here is infuriating. Take a day with no plans, no job to keep oneself busy, no need to go shopping, and no people to visit. What becomes of that lifestyle?

The holidays in the UK last longer than I’ve ever experienced, and while Christmas Markets are charming, they are something I expect from every city I visit. The holidays are keeping my spirit alive. I celebrate Christmas through my Spotify account and make hot drinks whenever it gets too cold outside.

I guess I need to be told to stop. To chill. To rest. My anxious body wants to go, go, go — to feel guilt because I haven’t done enough — to get out because you boring adult quit wasting time and grab a seat on a bus to the highlands or the coast or a new city.

I will do these things. But not now. Now is not the time. Now, I have done enough. I have said my first goodbyes to the people I’ve already hopped on buses with. I’ve explored cities with friends who are no longer here to enjoy the sites with me.

God willing my sister gets here next week, I can finally enter a last vacation. Show her the places and towns and journeys I’ve made on my own and with others.

Here’s the thing: I’ve said my first goodbyes to both people and places, but I haven’t said my last. And when this cycle of normalcy is finally broken by a long-awaited hello, when my sister comes ready for her vacation of a lifetime, the awe and wonder of travelling Scotland will return to my soul.