The First Local

“Thank you for being you.”

I have been told time and time again that crying in public is no shameful thing. Yet even with that in mind, I held back my slow tears until I walked out the door.

Saying goodbye is one thing. Leaving home is another. And melancholy is an adjective I have decided to apply to my travels, right alongside humorous.

I leave National Park the day after tomorrow, but with a different sort of feeling than the first time. Like before, I know I will be back. Like before, I am moving on to other homes and more beautiful people. Unlike before, I feel a closure on what was one hell of a wonderful season.

I wish I could introduce you to the humans who chose to come close to my curious soul. All of them deserve far more recognition than I am able to give.

How do I show you what I learned from the fireman who let me listen for hours and ask questions for what was perhaps even longer? Stories and information and ideas all but burst from his eyes as my boundless energy soaked all of it in. “You have time. I’ll see you again.”

Can I bring you to the moments I was reassured into peace by one of the hardest workers I know? I would watch the cigarette smoke spill from her mouth as she told me it would be okay. She will always be there for me, if only I could show how deeply I mean it when I say I will be there for her.”I’m proud of you, Wee Feet.”

Do your best to imagine the hugs I have been held in by two of the strongest women I know. They pushed me further, taught me more, and helped me move forward as I navigated the ups and downs of my first job. “You did it. You did the track you’ve wanted to do since the beginning. Now go get some rest.”

Forgive me for saying that as a chronically positive person with a cynical streak, it takes a lot for me to say “I could have a marriage like that.” (I can literally count them on one hand.) But I met one in National Park and I hope that everyone can know a couple as wonderfully badass, interesting, alive, deep, welcoming, and straight up beautiful as these two. Without them, I would not have been able to do the Round the Mountain Track with this level of confidence and without them, my view of New Zealand would be very different.

And if only I could properly paint the picture of my new favorite tiny home. Incense wafts gently through a space full of promise and wandering possibilities. Instruments are tucked into every corner and fabric attractively and haphazardly drapes itself across most surfaces in sight. Vests, hats, toolboxes, and pillows kaleidoscope themselves into the personality of one of the most brilliantly unique people I have the pleasure of knowing. If you ever find yourself confronted by the feeling that time no longer has meaning, but every fleeting moment is worth more than hours spent elsewhere, than you will understand what it means to be in this space.

It is both difficult and easy to tell those far away that you are sad. It is difficult because the reaction is often “let me fix it,” “I wish I could fix it,” or “come home to fix it.” It is easy because you’re far away. I don’t really have to deal with any of your reactions. Ultimately though sadness is a feeling, a wave of experience bound to return and bound to recede.

I will finish my goodbyes and say thank you to all who love me so well. For it is understood that nothing is forever.

“You can begin again, honey. You can begin again.” – “Begin Again” by Dispatch