Leaving requires letting go of everything you think of as yours.

Your city. Your job. Your house.  Not anymore.  Now they are someone else’s.  Leaving means accepting that all these things not only can, but will go on without you.

My replacement at work is every bit as smart as I am, and better prepared for this job than I ever was going in.  I have to now let go of the compulsion to spell out every detail of every process for her.  I figured it out, now she too will be perfectly able to figure it out.
But I have to let her.  Let go, and let her.  Absolve myself of the responsibility for this job.  It is hers now to own and to take responsibility for.  She gets to wear it, to own it. I have to stop protecting the job from her, and her from the job.
Now that I’m finally allowed to move on, I have to let myself do it.
What tugs most at my heart about leaving LA is knowing it won’t miss me.  Certain people will, but for the most part, this city will go on and be just fine without me.  Things will not fall apart.  I’ll return and all will be different.  They will have filled the space left behind by me, missing me about as much as the ocean misses a glass of water.
I however, will dearly miss LA.  I abandoned ship to escape my circumstances, my rut – but not this town.   I’ll miss her 10-lane freeways clogged with Priuses, her fancy coffee shops full of hipsters in vintage tops and skinny jeans, her gourmet food trucks serving bacon themed fare, dim sum, or Korean fusion tacos, her incredible art and music events, and most of all, her amazing mountains, beaches and year-round warm breezes.

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