Going, going, gone.

It's always easier to be the one who leaves, isn't it?

I'm often the person who is leaving. Most frequently, I leave my parents' house (and my parents) to drive back to Sarasota, back to my life here. When I visit my family in Pennsylvania, I'm the one who comes and goes--they stay. And because my apartment is so small (and, all right, because it's also sometimes very messy), I usually hang out at my friends' houses--which means I leave there, too. And you know what? I never think twice about it. It rarely feels unnatural. I guess that's the plus side of being the leaver--you're the one who is moving on.

But this weekend, two of my favorite people both left me in Sarasota. And, oh, doesn't that sound dramatic? I should clarify that it was neither dramatic nor did they leave me, you know, forever: one is going to South Africa for a three-week vacation (hi, my name is Jealous, not in the least because it's winter in the southern hemisphere and a face-melting 95 degrees here--are you tired of playing that tiny violin for me yet?); the other lives in north Florida and is simply going home before we reconnect next weekend. But still, for someone who is usually the leaver--or at least thinks she is--the other side of the coin is strange. I felt melancholy for the first part of the morning; there's a little hollowness inside me.

It'll pass. It always does. By tomorrow afternoon, I'll be caught up in the rhythm of the week: My fingers tapping against computer keys, responding to emails in the morning; my car wheels rolling over asphalt on the way to the various places I go throughout the day; a bowl of popcorn near me on the coffee table as I talk on the phone to my other wonderful friends who live in town; my arms and legs starfish-ed across my bed at night because I'll be the only one in it again. Life goes on and we adjust. We just do.

I still think it's always easier being the one who leaves, though.