A mild ache

During the past week, I find myself growing more reflective and nostalgic over the past 3 years in New York. I replay certain clips in my head of past moments. Meeting friends for the first time. Discovering tango. Working late nights with co-workers. Sharing a feast at a new restaurant. Walking briskly down streets or across long avenues. I never expected the move to San Francisco to provoke such thoughts of the past. I expected the move to push me to think ahead, to want to start afresh, and to leave what is behind so that I would feel...lighter. I did not plan for the difficulty of actually letting go of the weight of this city, defined so much by the wonderful people I have grown to love here. More often than not, the lows I have experienced have accompanied such highs. Stress at work has brought camaraderie among teammates. Prior relationships have held as many memories of pure joy as there have been hurt and misunderstanding. Chaos and bustle of nightlife have resurfaced as silly stories, often prompting loud laughter, the next morning. When I look at the big picture of what/who I am leaving, I hesitate to drop anything.

A mild ache sets in.

I wonder if I should be somewhere other than where I am.

I try not to think about it too much because such thoughts just delay the packing process and I have only a day left to finish before the moving company gets here. I always get a second wind of motivation when Ann is around. Her positivity and excitement of what lies ahead makes me feel braver to keep looking forward...to have faith that over time, San Francisco will become as dear to me as the one in my soon-to-be past.