Preparation

If anticipation is a feeling, then preparation must be an action. Just three weeks from my departure, I am becoming well-versed in the tasks that compose preparation. I have begun divesting myself of my worldly possessions. I am suddenly overwhelmed at how much I own, and how worthless it is. There are a few big things to be rid of, my car, some large furniture items. But then there are the little things, trinkets, decorations, things that only matter because they add depth, character, and completeness to the little apartment I call home.

These little things, strangely enough, are the ones I am sad to part with. These are the small objects received as gifts, admired at boutiques, and purchased on a whim. These are the items that no one thinks to buy, but somehow ends up owning. As I prepare to leave them behind, I feel almost ashamed. These knickknacks are not the staples of life, not the necessities, but they make my home feel more comfortable, more mine. I didn’t intend to think of this as an exercise in allegory, but the more I think about the small “things” that I am leaving, the more I realize that I will miss other small, intangible parts of life here as well.

I will be sad to leave my students. Over the past couple of years, these young people have been the ones to say hello when I go to lunch, to stop me in the hall, or to laugh at my silly jokes in class. There are hundreds of students I have met in my time at USC, many I will not remember. There are a handful who have become truly important, people I will keep in touch with after I leave. Then there are the rest, the ones whose futures I would wish to know, though I will probably never see them again. These students are the ones that I would have liked to appreciate more when they were in my class; these are the people who should stand out more, but will fade into the background of my memory. They are significant, but ultimately, they are only small a part of my life and I cannot take them with me.

For the past few months, I have been contemplating what it means to hold people with an open hand. Something about that image, of not grasping or clinging to relationships or asking too much of the ones we care about has resonated with me. I desire to be in community. I desire to be known and loved by the people in my life. But I do not wish to be held. In the same way, I want to appreciate the friendships that have come into my life while I’ve lived in California. I want to stay in contact with the individuals I have grown close to. However, I refuse to grip them tightly. I am all too aware what happens when we hang onto something too tightly for too long. Eventually, our fingers become pained, they spasm, they falter, and they relax. We can’t hang on forever. When we finally let go, our hands hurt from the exercise, they are painful, sore and we are unhappy with being parted from what was in our grasp.

I do not want to leave like this. I do not want to let go painfully, regretfully, or angrily. I want to release the friendships, the possessions, the memories, peaceably. I have chosen to move away, and I don’t want to be angry at making such a choice. I am excited at what lies ahead for me, and eager to see what the future holds. A friend told me that in every box I pack, every item of clothing placed into my suitcase, I am submitting to God’s will and plan for my life. In doing these things, there is peace. I am choosing to look at my preparation to leave as the act of letting go willingly, peacefully, and hopefully. I am offering my possessions, my friendships, and my future to the Lord with open hands.