07/28/25

Goodbyes are challenging for three reasons: first, you can’t go back in time; second, you can’t turn a goodbye into a positive if the situation isn’t inherently positive; and third, you can’t move forward if you don’t both discover and carry the wisdom you’ve recently gained. I feel like I owe myself more glimmers in the time I have now, but I must find a new outlet—I will go with the current from here on.

            I have said goodbye many times without saying it.

            I suppose that makes me a professional ghost.

            I guess that also makes me human, caught in a cycle of lessons bleeding into one another, too focused on the future to leave behind a clear ending. 

            I’m stuck in the transitional phases I can’t seem to move beyond, such as losing a parent, struggling to make friends, and not finishing my comedy, even though I love it so much. My body reacts strongly when I see the end of a situation approaching, like reaching the end of a hiking trail or a fork in the road that feels more stressful and demanding than it should. I enjoy it when things flow smoothly and comfortably, which is where I am now. I like it so much I want to sit crisscross on the dirt floor and wait for the end to pass me by and forget me; it feels like a logical choice. It feels like the only choice when I ruminate.

            But the reality of my having to leave, even though I’m making a healthy choice for myself, weighs on my gait as I move forward in my hiking boots on a slightly unpaved trail, filled with thrush and dried autumn leaves. Change is like the air I breathe; sometimes the altitude is higher, and I am forced to adjust my body and breath to meet the challenge. At other times, the air is fresh and light, asking me to lower my tongue from the roof of my mouth and, with it, my pensive shoulders. 

            I owe it to myself to pursue a story of change that isn’t inherently negative.

            Maybe this fork in the road is just asking me to spread my wings and migrate.

            What else can you do when the weather changes drastically but start flying?

Written in doubt, offered in truth,

Nicole Asbjorn