Too Good at Goodbyes

One of my least favorite acquired skills during my travels has undoubtedly been learning how to say goodbye.

 

But not in the final, “see you never” kind of way. Rather, it’s more like a “goodbye for now,” with a heavy emphasis on for now. The kind of farewell that carries a promise to return, but with the uncertainty of when that might be. It’s a word that, no matter how many times I utter it, always feels just as hard as the first.

 

The funny thing is, no matter how many times I find myself in this situation, no matter how many places or people I have to say goodbye to, I never seem to grow immune to it. Whether it’s a small coastal town in Maine or the friends that Phoenix brought me, they all leave their mark.

 

 

At times, I wonder why I haven’t grown more accustomed to it, or why, after all of constant comings and goings, it still feels just as difficult each time. The truth is, I don’t think I ever will. I don’t think I’m supposed to.

 

You see, it’s not the physical act of parting that’s so difficult. It’s the emotional weight that comes with it. The feeling of a door closing, even if it’s only momentarily, the quiet ache of knowing that I may not see the same faces, walk the same streets, or breathe the same air for a long while.

 

Saying goodbye isn’t just a word, it’s a recognition of the fleeting nature of experiences, of connections, of time itself. Every time I say goodbye, I’m reminded of how much I’ve had, and how quickly it can change.

 

And yet, despite the heaviness of each goodbye, I find a strange sense of resilience growing within me. I’ve become skilled at it. I guess I have to be, given how often I find myself in the position of having to say those words. It’s something I’ve come to accept, just as much as I’ve come to accept that every journey requires an end.

 

Whether it’s the end of a stay, the end of a chapter, or, sometimes, the end of a season in life.

 

 

The emotional pulls on my heartstrings are inevitable. Every time I say goodbye, there’s a part of me that aches. And yet, that ache is also a constant reminder of something far more profound. I am fortunate. Fortunate enough to have crossed paths with places that have left an indelible mark on my soul. Places that, with all their beauty and intricacy, have shaped me in ways I could never have predicted. And fortunate enough to have met people who’ve opened their hearts to me, shared their stories, and made me feel as though I belonged, even if only for a brief moment. 

 

There’s something so humbling about the connections you make on the road. You find yourself drawn to others simply because you’re both passing through the same space at the same time, and yet in that brief intersection of lives, something meaningful can be created. 

 

It teaches you that the world is full of people and places that will touch your life in ways you might not expect. And while it may seem painful at first, the act of leaving them behind is also an acknowledgment of how deeply they’ve impacted you. In a way, each goodbye serves as a tribute to everything that made those connections special.

 

 

 These are the memories that linger long after the goodbyes are said.

 

While saying goodbye never seems to get any easier, I’ve learned to embrace it in a way. I’ve learned that it’s part of the ebb and flow of life. People come and go, places change, and time keeps moving forward. Each goodbye is a reminder that I have experienced something precious, something worth holding onto, even if only in my heart.

 

It’s the nature of travel, after all. It’s about embracing the impermanence of everything and finding beauty in the transient moments that we so often take for granted.

 

As I continue on this journey, I’ll keep saying goodbye. I’ll say it to the next place, the next person, the next chapter of my life. It will never be easy, but maybe that’s exactly what makes it worthwhile. Because the difficulty of saying goodbye is just another reflection of the depth of what I’ve experienced, and that’s something I’ll carry with me long after the words have been spoken.