On Leaving

I have left many places. Some by choice. Some by necessity. Some because staying felt impossible.

Each departure carries its own weight. The last look at a familiar street. The final closing of a door. The way the light falls differently on the last morning. These moments accumulate. They become part of who you are.

When I write about leaving, I am not writing about escape. I am writing about what happens when you choose to go. About what you take with you. About what you leave behind. About the space between where you were and where you are going.

The things we carry are not always physical. A way of speaking. A gesture. A memory of how the evening light looked through a particular window. These travel with us. They shape how we see new places. How we understand new people. How we make sense of ourselves in unfamiliar spaces.

Leaving is not a single act. It is a process. It happens in stages. In moments of recognition. In the slow understanding that you have become someone who belongs elsewhere. Or perhaps belongs nowhere. Or belongs in the space between.

I write about this because it is what I know. Because it is what many of us know. The experience of departure. The experience of arrival. The experience of existing in the space between. These are not unique stories. But they are worth telling, worth understanding, worth holding with care.