I have done a lot of leaving in my life.
At 23 I bought a one-way ticket to a writing dream, and I left.
At 27 I found a diamond ring to make me a wife, to give me a life, and I left.
At 32 I finished a degree, got a choice of where to be, and I left
At 33 my heart found a home, then became a refugee, and I left.
At the end of this year, my plan was to leave again.
Leaving feels brave, being on the road, untethered, limitless.
You have to be brave with your own life so others can be brave with theirs.
But somewhere along the way, my leaving stopped being brave, and started being driven by fear.
The other day, a friend said to me: "You are so socially reserved and yet so wanting to be seen".
It caught in my throat.
To be known is to be loved, we cannot be loved without being known, but being known feels scary so we settle for being seen.
When you leave a lot, you pick up people along the way, who can watch from afar, as you curate a version of yourself that feels acceptable.
You are seen.
But being seen is a cheap substitute for being known, and being known is the only path to being loved.
My hometown feels like a haunted city of lost love. So many dead versions of me, versions that belonged to different times, to different people. Ghosts of past regrets.
It is scary, I want to run, I want to leave, but the only path back to love is to let yourself be known, and the only way to be known is to stay.
This morning I walked through familiar halls and saw people who have known all the ghosts of my past.
The friends who survive seasons and stay through all of your leavings, who forgive failures and repair after ruptures, remind us that not all love is lost.
Maybe the love I was searching for out there, on the road, by being seen, can only be experienced by being known.
And when the fear of being known becomes bigger than the fear of the unknown, maybe the bravest thing you can do is stay.
Smile often
Beth