It’s been a year and some change since I left Cambodia. I had a thousand reasons to leave, and I am so glad I did, but when September 3rd passed last week, I felt sad. Like a weird kind of empty sad, that caught me by surprise. I didn’t really get it, I had made those choices for myself, I had pushed hard in the right direction, and threw myself willingly into the relative free-fall of the last year. I am happier than I have been in a very long time, and yet, there was sadness?

With the help of an ugly cry and a very understanding set of ears to listen to me work through it, I realized that change, no matter what size or direction, is an adjustment. My life looks completely different now than it did a year ago, and I wouldn’t have ever imagined the amount of luck, love, and understanding that has come my way in the last year. But there is still something that feels like a mourning, for the past life, and a community that I miss dearly.

I am under the impression that change is a good thing, which I realize isn’t a particularly unique point of view. But because it leads itself so well to cliche, I often forget the gravity of change, and how long it takes my brain to catch up with my body. This time last year I was bouncing from couch to couch across the US, and I would’t be in my now-house for another 3 months. Change is weird and awkward and painful, but always, always important.

It’s nearly impossible for me avoid dipping into some version of self-help prose after a year of meditation, therapy, yoga, Brene Brown, and green juice, so I won’t even try. My impatience with the impact of change is the only thing about it that doesn’t surprise me. In true form, I just want to get through it and get on with things, but I am doing my best to quiet that spazzy voice just a little bit, and let those feelings come and go.

Overshare complete.