STARTING OVER / HEARTBREAK

Letter 032 NEW

You Don't Get My New Address.

I've been thinking about all the things you won't know about my new life.

The grocery store I'll go to.

The route I'll take home.

The coffee shop I'll eventually call my place.

The little routines I'll develop without even realizing they're routines.

You won't know any of them.

And that's strange, because there was a time when you knew everything.

Where I was going.

When I'd be home.

What kind of day I'd had.

What I was looking forward to.

Who I wanted to become.

And now I'm moving somewhere you won't be.

I'm taking my entire life with me, except for the part that included you.

I wish I could tell you that feels entirely good.

It doesn't.

There's something heartbreaking about making plans that don't include someone you once imagined in every single one of them.

I catch myself thinking about the things I would've told you.

The apartment I almost chose.

The furniture I want.

The neighborhood I'm excited to explore.

The ridiculous little inconveniences that come with starting over.

You would've had an opinion about all of it.

And I probably would've wanted to hear it.

That's the part nobody really talks about when they tell you to move on.

You don't just leave a person behind. You leave behind the person you were when they were part of your future.

And sometimes, you still want to tell them what happens next.

I wonder how long it'll take before I stop instinctively including you in conversations we're never going to have.

Before something funny happens and I don't immediately think of telling you.

Before I stop imagining what you'd say about a place you've never seen.

Maybe that's what moving really means.

Not packing everything into boxes.

Not signing a lease.

Not learning a different grocery store.

But accepting that someone who used to know every detail of your life is about to become a stranger to the details that come next.

You knew my old address. You knew my old life. You knew the old me.

And maybe that's all you're going to know.

There's a part of me that wants you to wonder.

To realize that I'm somewhere else now.

That my days are happening without you.

That I'm making memories you won't recognize.

Not because I want to punish you.

But because sometimes I wish you understood how much of my life you chose not to be part of.

And there's another part of me that hopes you never find out.

Because I want something that's mine.

A place where the walls don't remind me of conversations we've had.

Where I don't associate every street with a memory.

Where I can walk into a room without mentally placing you in it.

Where I get to become someone you haven't met.

I don't know whether I'll love it immediately.

I might get lonely.

I might cry the first night.

I might unpack everything and still feel like something is missing.

And maybe the hardest part won't be leaving.

Maybe it'll be the first ordinary night.

When the boxes are still everywhere.

When I don't know which light switch does what.

When I realize there's nobody else coming home.

Nobody to ask what we're doing for dinner.

Nobody whose things are mixed in with mine.

Just me.

In a place I chose.

Living a life I didn't necessarily choose to need.

And I think that's what makes starting over so complicated.

You can know you're doing the right thing and still wish you didn't have to do it.

You can be excited about a new home and devastated that the old one didn't work out.

You can look forward to decorating a room and still cry because there's only one side of the bed to make.

Sometimes moving forward looks a lot like moving out.

And sometimes the bravest thing you do all day is turn the key in a door you never imagined opening alone.

And I know there will be moments when I'll wish you were there.

But I'm learning that missing someone doesn't mean they belong in every version of your life.

Some people were part of the place you came from.

That doesn't mean they're supposed to come with you.

So I'll find a new favorite restaurant.

I'll learn which roads to avoid during rush hour.

I'll figure out where the light comes through the windows in the morning.

I'll make new memories in rooms you've never entered.

And eventually, I hope I'll stop thinking about whether you'd like any of it.

Not because what we had didn't matter.

But because my life is still happening.

Even without you watching.

Even without you knowing.

Even without you.

And maybe one day you'll wonder where I ended up.

Maybe you'll look for me in the places I used to be.

Maybe you'll realize you don't know anything about my life anymore.

And maybe that will hurt.

I don't know.

But here's what I needed you to know.

I'm not moving because I've forgotten you.

I'm moving because there's a whole life ahead of me that I haven't met yet.

And for the first time in a long time,

I'm more curious about where I'm going than whether you're coming.