The Christmas break during my freshman year of college was full of weird feelings. 

I had a tricky first semester at school, and I had been really homesick. I was so excited to spend time with my mom; and, I was looking forward to finding that sense of “home” again. But as soon as I got back, everything felt off and different. My mom was still awesome, but my room had boxes in the closet, and my parents had gotten some new things in their house that I didn’t recognize. 

Then, when I went to a basketball game at my high school, everything looked familiar, but it just didn’t feel the same. I had outgrown it somehow, and, it seemed like my high school had moved on without me. It was off-putting and disorienting to suddenly be so insignificant in a place that had defined so much about my daily life for so long.

But I think for me, abrupt change brings on a necessary set of emotions that can help me move on when something officially ends.

I felt this exact same set of emotions running through my body when I drove down to Sarasota the next day. I had only been gone for a little more than a month, but it really felt like the town had moved on without me. I felt like an outsider, but the truth is, I didn’t really want to belong there anymore anyway.

I think everything that had happened when our trust was wiped out, and when we had that horrible business deal, made me feel like I was done with Sarasota for good. And even though there are still people who live in that city that I sincerely love with all of my heart, I couldn’t wait to finish up my errands, and then slip out of town again. Maybe someday, when I wasn’t homeless, I could visit Sarasota again; but right then, I could hardly breathe.

There was this coffee shop in downtown Sarasota that Lou and I went to every morning for more than a year before we left town. It was called Pastry Art. 

We drank coffee with the same group of people nearly every day, and I really loved them all. But I didn’t want to see anybody on this trip — even though my coffee pals had done nothing wrong, and only deserved my love. If I could’ve stopped in, and only gotten an update on their lives, that would’ve been perfect. 

But that never happens when you’re the one who leaves.

People want to know what you’ve been up to, and quite frankly, I was too overwhelmed to share much of anything. And, at that particular point, I couldn’t imagine trying to recap things about Lou’s health, or our continued homelessness, without sounding pathetic.  Simply put, I couldn’t handle the reminder that I didn’t have any answers to offer them or myself about what was going to happen next.

Writing about this now makes me so sad. 

I wish I could’ve been a bigger person, or dug a little deeper to connect with my old coffee drinking gang. I used to keep in touch via email with one of my favorite coffee clutch friends — Bob. He told me that my old pal, Jack, passed away, and his wife, Chris moved soon after to live with one her kids in New England somewhere. Jack and Chris are the two people in the pictures above, and they both were still around when I was in town that week. But I blew my last chance to see them.

One of the countless life lessons I’ve had to learn the hard way is this: surviving made me selfish. 

During that particular season of my life, I spent so much time worrying about Lou and myself that I created zero margin to add others to my world. And, I felt like I could hold things together better by isolating myself and keeping my life tight and very insular. 

Reflecting back on this is shameful for me, but I wanted to share this honest discovery with you. The biggest irony of all is that money made me selfish, too. When I had lots of it, I lived a “very insular” life as well. But it turns out, money had less to do with how I behaved; it was a character issue. (Unraveling who I’d become was a lot more shocking than unraveling a sweater, as it turns out!)

But I did my best in the moment. 

That’s all I could do.

Anyway… When I was just finishing up the last of my scheduled meetings in Sarasota, and while I was on my way to post office to renew my mail-hold status, my phone rang. 

It was Lou’s sister, Dona. 

Even before I answered the phone, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck bristle with fear when I saw her number flash on the screen.