Such Sweet Sorrow

That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

-Romeo & Juliet (Act II. Scene II)

I have never really been the emotional type. Graduation from high school was a natural step. The people I wanted to see again, I was sure I would see again and the people I'd been acquainted with...well if we crossed paths it'd be nice to see you again but I wasn't going to have a conniption about it. College was pretty much the same, I had my group of friends who I know I'll stay close with (the same group I talk to on a daily basis even all the way across the Atlantic Ocean) after everything was said and done and those subsidiary friends, who were going to get a text every now and then, they were just that. This is all to say I have never really had to go through what I'm going through now.

William Shakespeare (or any collection of writers who created Romeo & Juliet) once informed us of the sweet sorrow of parting. I can relate to this oxymoronic statement perfectly; it seems me and my buddy William have more in common than a keen way with words. The reason Juliet told Romeo that parting with him was a sweet yet sorrowful action was, perhaps, because she was implying that doing anything with Romeo brought pleasure to her brain. I had a sort of Juliet moment this evening. 

Today was my last Lacrosse practice in Münster and while most of the two and a half hours I spent with the team were completely normal, it was when I was saying my goodbyes that the emotions really started to hit me. Perhaps this is how you are supposed to feel when faced with separation, but it was a wholly new feeling for me. This is my family, there was never a dark enough time, a painful enough, difficult enough time in my stay in Germany that I couldn't look ahead to the next practice and think, "At least I'll be with the team soon." As much as a crutch as one can have in a foreign situation, that was my Lacrosse team.

And so, although I have tried my best to remain emotionally guarded, and although they know I regard them very highly, I let myself become the emotional type. I don't know, maybe it's because this seems so definite. High school never seemed like a true parting ceremony because I still have a home in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, 27517 that I return to religiously. College was the same. I know I have a home at The House and my "family" travels with me wherever I go, even if merely by telephone. This, too, may end up fostering relationships that last a lifetime, I have no doubt that there are friendships and family bonds I have made during this year that will continue to bud and grow, that was never a concern. The real issue for me, the real concern and trigger that caused the wave of emotion to come over me is that it's so much more definite. This may literally have been the last time I see some of those faces again, the last time I catch a pass from a teammate or yell instructions, in frustration, at a great friend. It's something that hasn't ever hit me as hard as this time around and it might be because I have always had a sense of understanding that there would be a next time. 

There isn't quite such a sense of "next time" with Münster, Westfalen, Deutschland, Postleitzahl 48151. I can say as much as I want that I'll be back, and I truly believe I will, I know in my heart of hearts I will, but unlike Chapel Hill, which barring me peeling over and making a premature trip to the pearly gates will be graced with my presence once more, I can't be certain. That's a beauty of life that I think I've developed in this year. We are so used to knowing everything, having a plan and executing the plan in the exact manner that we drew it up. We are disappointed when our plans don't pan out the way we wanted them to and we see ourselves as failures when things change or veer off course. This year has been one of spontaneity, of trust and of leaping off the cliffs and looking once I've landed, thankful that it was only a five foot drop every time my feet touched down soundly on the ground. 

Maybe that's the entire lesson I'm trying to teach myself as my fingers rapidly dash across the keyboard, searching for an answer that I've yet to find. The ground here is solid. It has been a tough ride, a hard journey, far away from my family, far away from every soul I'd previously called a friend but it's finally over. The car has stopped and we're slowly unpacking our luggage, a sigh of relief escaped somewhere from the back seat and the keys were pulled out of the ignition as we finally reached our destination. I glance over the driver's seat to see everything that was left in the rear view and smile, relieved that I finally made it to where I wanted to be, where I thought I'd be after all this time. Then I realize I have to turn back, head back home, back to where the journey started. 

There's nothing wrong with a return journey, it's just that this ground, this destination is so solid. The peace and quiet of a still engine and the knowledge that a vehicle has finally been able to settle down after being pushed to the brink to get to this firmament. "Are we there yet" someone whines from the back, and just as I want to answer yes, the destination changes. It will be exhausting, long and full of trouble and toil heading back from where I came, and the sights, sounds, and hitch hikers I picked up along the way are sure to be etched into my memory as the mile markers pass by. 

And as much as I'm sure that I'll be ready for another road trip, the roads of life are ever changing. So I keep the image I saw in my rear view locked into my memory, in case the car breaks down along the way.