Goodbye my friends
Goodbye to evening parties
Remember me
In the spring

To work for your bread
Soon you must leave
Remember your family
Work for your children

I don’t need much
And the older I become
I realize
My friendships
Lord carry me over
Any course of distance
Any cause of sorrow

My friends that last
Will dance one more time
With me
I don’t need much
This I need…
P.J. Harvey, The Departure

I don’t know what to say, really. Today was my last day of teaching. Sure, next week is finals, and tomorrow is graduation, but today was it. Today ends a two year journey that I’d always known was temporary, but one that blew me away in its complexity and awkwardness and brilliance and growth–God so much growth.

I’m sitting here at my dining table, the very table I got up in a rush from at 7:30 this morning, for the last time, to head out to school. I love this job. I’ve loved this job. And unlike college, or high school, it *wasn’t* time yet to leave, but I’m still glad I did it. I’m glad I did it before I felt I’d stayed too long, ro that I’d deferred my own dreams in order to receive the heady feeling of being important or significant in the eyes of teenagers and respected by my teaching peers.

I’m a damn good teacher. And I freaking love it. I’m by no means perfect, and I’m still learning, but I have been so blessed by this crazy ass experience, and I know I do it well. For me to leave is extraordinarily terrifying, and to leap into a relative unknown, even more so.

Somewhat like when I moved to South Africa in July of 2004, at the age of 20, turning down another amazing and predictable year molding students as a resident adviser at UCSD. When I left, I wrote this final note of goodbye for my freshman residents:

“Wow. In the midst of finals, I can’t believe we’re almost done. I’m no longer at death’s door, and life is starting to get a little more manageable in the midst of the stress. But I can’t believe it. The year is done.
A week from now, I will open my eyes on a weekday morning in my bedroom in Los Angeles and walk outside, only to not find a suite filled with 11 guys, each with their own random habits and quirks–playing video games, downloading X-Men cartoons, or banging on the guitar 24-7. I’ll climb down a flight of stairs, but not onto a green where I can see Ravi or Josh lugging their surfboards, here Joanna, Tina, Amanda and the rest of the Bitch Squad yelling, or see the 110 guys coming back from a random OVT run or adventure. I won’t see Lauren dance, yell at Heather and Sarah, comment on Tess’ bug killing or Vivian’s loathing of class. I won’t hear Lora’s cheeriness or Meg and Naz’s random adventures. After a long day of (what? there’s no classes, no organizations to run to, just a six month trip to prepare for…) something planned, I’ll come back to my house, only to not see Pak or Dan pretending to do homework, to hear Stan’s stories, or see what the combined 4th floor unit (Athena, Doris, Scott, Christina, etc) are up to.

My summer will be fun, as I’ll catch up with old friends and see my family and finally REST.
But none of you will be there. And that’s gonna be a huge deal.
You see, I may have hung out with you a million times, or only seen you twice since the first building meeting, but you have all changed me. I am a different and certainly better person for having met you, whether it was yelling over a game of Apples to Apples or Curses, or telling random stories during a study break. All of you brought something to my life that I won’t have in a week. And selfishly, I’m going to miss each of you intensely.

It’s been a rare treat to watch you all grow up a little bit, to leave high school, make new friends, and go through random adventures with dating, roommates, alcohol, religion, and a thousand other things. I’ve tried my best to be a good R.A. for y’all, to listen and care without being overbearing, and I hope that I’ve made your first year here a little easier and a little more fun. I guess it’s time for us all to move on, and for most of you, spend another year on campus, this time in an apartment with your own kitchen and little group of friends, growing up even more. Likewise, it’ll be my turn to grow up, this time on another continent, for five and a half months, far away from all of you. It’ll be scary yet awesome, and I’ll come back different, I’m sure of it. But just as you never forget your first R.A., I’ll never forget my first rezzies. Thanks for making ‘03-’04 the best year of my life, no joke.

I suck at saying goodbyes, so I guess I’ll just say hello when you all leave. I’ll see you all in December/January when I get back, and I look forward to long chats at Cafe Vandersexxx–er, I mean Ventanas about what you’ve been up to.

Goodbye Europe Hall. Hello South Africa.

–Teej”

Likewise, so much fo that message rings true for me, four years later.

These two years have changed me. I’ve grown, I’ve been forced to see al ot of the darkness and the truth behind my smiles, and a lot more of who I am and what I want out of life. I dated a girl with some severe issues who left me pretty emotionally scarred, I learned a lot about myself as a teacher and as a friend through the hours and hours of grading and laughing and lectures and invasions.

And I am humbled, thankful, and emotional, thinking that I just might have to leave it in search of the unknown, five years at the University of Illinois. My God, five. And I may never come back to San Diego, and even if I do, it’ll never be like this again, as a crazy 22 year old out of grad school. No, this is a chapter closing a bit before I’m ready, but that’s a hell of a lot better than a chapter closing two years later than it should

Parker, I’ll miss you so much my heart breaks. You’ve been an amazing, life changing place of hope and learning and privilege and craziness, and love. I’m going to miss this wonderful school so much, and for every one at that campus, you must know that you’ve changed me–for the good (yeah, yeah Wicked beat me to it).

I’m overwhelmed. I’m going to go out now.


How am I feeling?:: grateful
What’s playing?:: P.J. Harvey – The Departure