“How can you leave this place?”

As soon as the words hit my eardrums, I can feel the tears forming in my eyes…again.

Tears are seem to be pretty standard for me these days.

“Seriously, how can you leave this place? I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.”

Such questions seem to be the basis of all my conversations and thoughts these days. I’m in a constant roller coaster pattern. Happy, sad, confused, sad, happy, confused.

I’m leaving Boston. Even as I type the words it doesn’t seem real. How can it be real? I love it here. I love everything about it. Okay, fine, I don’t love everything. Hence the reason(s) I’m leaving. I don’t love my job. I don’t love that most of my family and friends are hundreds of miles away. But I do love Boston. I love, love, love Boston.

Again, I’m experiencing heartbreak because of a place. This is my third heart-wrenching breakup with a place. The first was Antwerp. The second was JMU. And now Boston.

My breakup with Antwerp was the worst. I stayed depressed for an entire month. All I wanted to do was rewrite my journal – seriously, I rewrote every single word – and look at my photographs from the experience. I tried to cling to the moments. I just couldn’t let go. In fact, I don’t think I ever completely let go. My heart still hurts when I think about it.

My breakup with JMU wasn’t quite as bad. Don’t get me wrong, I still consider JMU to be the happiest place on Earth. But when it was time to say goodbye, I was mostly ready to move on. And I knew that my new adventure in Boston was just around the corner.

And now, I’m breaking up with Boston. For some reason, it seems different this time. So please, be patient with me, as I explore this transition. Please allow me to take my time (warning: it may take awhile) saying goodbye to Boston and opening my mind up to the possibilities of my future A.B. [After Boston]…

The strange & discombobulated tunnels of my mind.

My mind is racing. My thoughts sprint through my brain as if in agonizing competition with each other. Each thought runs as fast as it can through the tunnels of my mind, desperately attempting to reach the front of the pack, desperately attempting to break away, cross the finish line first and capture my attention. But there is no winner. The contest is too evenly matched. My thoughts continue to battle it out inside my head as they plunge towards the yellow ribbon. At that point, it’s almost as if there was no race at all. My thoughts collapse breathlessly to the ground on top of each other.

My mind is spinning. Around and around. Faster and faster. Each thought seems to position itself on the handle end of a baseball bat. The thought grabs hold of the bat. And then it spins. Just like a giddy child playing a baseball bat spin race game. Around, around, around, around and around. Faster, faster, faster, faster and faster. And then the thought suddenly and quickly releases it’s grasp of the bat to allow another thought to jump in and play the game. But the first thought doesn’t stop spinning. It retains the momentum it gained from its turn on the bat and continues to spin. And then the spinning multiplies as the rest of my thoughts take their turns at playing the game. The world inside my head gets dizzier as my thoughts continue to spin. Around and around. Faster and faster.

I frantically try to slow my my thoughts down. I reach for something – anything – to help the race come to an end, to help the spinning subside. All of my attempts to regain control of my thoughts backfire – smack! – right in my face. My thoughts continue to perform magnificent cartwheels in my head, almost as if they are laughing at my desperate and failed attempt to restore order.

I know that I don’t know.

I wrote that sentence in my journal 4 years, 2 days, 3 hours and 53 minutes ago. Seriously. I used to date and time my journal entries.

“I know that I don’t know.”

Seems so simple, doesn’t it? Yet so complex at the same time. I know that I don’t know. In fact, that may be one of the few things I know with absolute certainty. And yet for some reason I still spend an absurd amount of time trying to figure everything out.

For what purpose? I know it won’t get me anywhere. I know all the answers won’t all of a sudden hit me like a bolt of lightening.

What answers am I seeking? Half the time I don’t even know what my questions are.

I wish I could be content in my lack of knowledge about what life might (and might not) bring. I wish I could be content to simply wait…and see. I wish I could be content in just being…

It’s ridiculous (and quite humorous) how much time and effort I spend trying to sort out my life, when in reality my life sorts itself out. It always has. I really don’t have anything to complain about. In fact, I often feel guilty complaining about and over analyzing my “situation” when I know it could be far, far worse. And yet, I still do it. I can’t stop. It’s like a terrible addiction. I have an addiction to asking “what if” and “why” and “why not” and…well, I’m sure you get the point.

I’ll do well for awhile. I’ll have brief and fleeting moments where I feel enlightened and at peace with my place in the world.

And then – just as quickly as my feeling of contentment emerged – it disappears. And then the cycle repeats itself.

She sits there silently, motionless…only slipping into reality long enough to sip her latte every now and then. She is lost inside her thoughts, attempting to piece them together like a puzzle. Or perhaps pull them apart? She travels through her mind in circles, unwilling – or maybe just too afraid – to stop and ask for directions. What if this…and what if that…the questions don’t stop. One question tips over another and before long her head is filled with a maze of dominoes.

The above passage is taken from yet another old journal entry – 3 years, 7 months, 11 days, 17 hours and 6 minutes ago, to be precise.

And with that, I will sign off and attempt to pick up all the dominoes that have made a mess of my head this morning.