Have you ever had a break-up so final that even after you returned all their stuff you still wished you could return the memories?

I have.

I’ve never had a boyfriend, but I have had a break-up.

It’s a long sad story. Too long for this blog. The short version is that break-ups sometimes happen between friends too. It’s worse than a romantic break-up, trust me.

I have 23 years of evidence to prove I don’t do well when I get left behind.

Which is how I somehow became the person who does the leaving. Not word-spitting-angry leaving. More like drifting-with-the-current leaving.

I like the ease of transitional friendships. The coming and going as jobs and ideas and values change. The forgiveness for busy schedules and differing plans.

It feels easier that way. It feels easier to make new friends for a few weeks in a new place than to watch your old friends get tired of your stories. It feels easier to fit people in for coffee dates than to see them leave their dirty dish in the kitchen sink every morning.

It’s easier.
But it’s not always better.

I’m standing at the edge of the water. I’d really like to slip away at dusk on another current to another place—somewhere fresh—where all my stories are new and nobody has outgrown me yet.

But then I would really miss Wednesday morning coffee with Meagan and monthly sleepovers with Emily. I’d miss the weird urban farm my sisters and I have made and the crusty coffee mugs in the kitchen sink.

And I’d really miss my wonderful job at SheLoves Magazine.

I think my wanderlust heart may have actually found its anchor. But that’s also what scares me so much. These are the people who’ve seen me vulnerable. (Don’t think for a second that this blog is vulnerable. Sure, I spill my guts on the internet every few weeks, but I don’t have to look you in the eyes when I tell you I’m worried I’m just too much and not enough all at once. )

And it just sounds easier to zip myself back into my exoskeleton and find a new project in a new town and slowly drift away. That way, if you pack up and move or get tired of me, at least I’m already gone.


  1. says

    O, Sarah … I love you for writing this and for naming your fears.

    Funny thing is, I think most of us can relate: ” … I don’t have to look you in the eyes when I tell you I’m worried I’m just too much and not enough all at once.” Ta-daaaaa. You named it.

    I really don’t want to do life without you … That Sarah hole would be JUST TOO BIG for my heart to manage. But, girl, do I ever know that itch. No wonder I go off to Africa and Moldova and wherever. My soul needs that adventure too. I pray you find exactly what you need and it’s likely a beautiful mix of all of this.

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