It’s pretty sad actually so I’m writing it a few days before actual effectivity. Maybe taking it slower and steadier would allow me to swim through all the conflicting emotions and enable to me make sense of each of them. It hasn’t worked so far but it’s bound to eventually, right? Because there’s really no other alternative.
Sir Lito had the back door bolted. He doesn’t like it when the cigarette smoke from the third floor lobby seeps through the usually open back door and into the airconditioned office. He’s right; it stinks. It’s not everyday or everywhere one can literally get lung cancer by just sitting–in a closed space. There aren’t any keys to unbolt the door—unless you have a screwdriver. Sir Lito had a latch screwed in, keeping anyone from opening it, inside and out. Just how big his determination was to keep the smoke out is measured by the fact that we’ve been smelling crisp processed air for a few days now.
The bolted door has locked me in and I cannot get out–unless of course I’m smart enough to use the other door and I’m not. The backdoor is special; like all back doors, it’s practically hidden–behind literal walls of anonymity. No one can see you come in or get out unless they’re watching closely (and that’s Creepy with a capital C). No one I hope is that perverted.
But in my own silent way (kind of like that back door), I managed to get past the tightly secured latch. With my own, personal screwdriver–a certain but incomprehensible desire to get out and better myself. As to how and why, I don’t know. I don’t care–okay, maybe I do, a little. A lot.
It’s that classic push and pull–of staying behind with the familiar and diving into seriously but technically unchartered territory. It’s George of the jungle swinging vines in the big city all over again. The dilemma is all too obvious and I’d rather not bore anybody with tedious details. But the force is very strong (and not in a good Star Wars way). In attempt to console myself out of festering, I once again turn to the one I can always trust to do the right thing (apart of course, from God)…
So, Sasha, let me tell you again and over and over again–To go somewhere, you must learn to move and actually look for it.To keep looking back is just a choice you have to live with.
There is absolutely no assurance that the decision I made is a good one. Pointing fingers, more than one, have told me that it’s a potential mistake. But it’s too late now, the only way back is to look back and it’s already way out of reach. Now, what matters is, whether it’s good or bad, it’s up to me to make it right.
To the friends I will leave and the friends I will gain; the stories I’ll forget and the ones that will remain. TOAST! Adventure is out there. I’m sad but fairly excited to enter a different stage in this long and complicated journey.