“Won’t you be sad?”

Well, yeah.

Nobody’s asked me that before, but a couple of days ago, somebody did. We were talking about the prospect of moving, after I’ve made all sorts of friends and established all sorts of connections to the community in which we live. 

Hearing the question, I felt… defensive.

“Of course I’ll be sad, but it’s not like I have much of a choice.” 

The words were too blunt. I already experience waves of sadness. I burst into tears just a few weeks ago, when it finally hit me, how soon we could be leaving.

And we have choices. I could always say, “I don’t want to move. I want to stay here, because it’s so nice here, so comfortable, so easy. I don’t want to be sad.” My husband would oblige. 

But that doesn’t feel right to me. It feels short-sighted.

“Won’t you be sad?”

“Sure,” I should have said. “But sadness is temporary.”







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