How many miles to Babylon?/ Three score miles and ten-/ Can I get there by candlelight?/ Yes, and back again- If your feet are nimble and light/ You can get there by candlelight.

English Nursery Rhyme

In her essay “Goodbye to All That,” Joan Didion writes about living in New York City. On the surface, it is the story of an early twenty-something NYC transplant making her way in the big city amidst all the sparkle and flash. Digging a little deeper, it is the story of home sickness, the evolution of dreams, luster wearing off, growing up, and days that become months that become years. Saying goodbye to all that is ultimately about embracing what is.

I know what it is like to live a temporary existence where home, and dreams, and time itself shape shift. To be a dream chaser with two pennies to rub together. To change addresses so frequently that I don’t remember my zip code. To hatch an idea in August and be knee deep in making it so by January. To fall in love with romantic places and situations by candlelight and wake up wondering how the hell did I get here.

“Goodbye to All That” is the story of life’s impermanence. The ebb and flow of experience. The in and out of love. The going to and running from. Saying goodbye has always tasted like a bittersweet cocktail of sadness and excitement, sometimes with a twist of regret and a failure chaser. Right now, I am tired. Maybe I am tired because selfishness pisses me off. Maybe I am tired because I am older and have written the change chapter again and again. (As if change is debatable, and not a fact of life.) Maybe I am tired because I am suffering a crisis of imagination that will not let me beyond the cruelty I often see and feel.

Hope must become the thing with feathers and perch on my soul, above fear and debt and anger. The kind of hope that is substantial and hearty and light and beautiful. I know the beauty of change and courage and fluidity in my bones. I know the beauty of not yet (Not yet is where the good stuff of life emerges like bulb in spring.) I know the salve that is following our why and our desire. I know the beauty of the inevitable call to growth we hear when we say goodbye to all that.