Last week was tough. This week was tough too, but in an entirely different way. In place of the restlessness that filled up last week’s dead space, this week’s been a reckless collision of people, scheduling, hosting, packing, planning … all meeting at a choked up intersection of Nostalgic and Stressed-Out.
Other Racers have poured into my parents’ place, brimming with excitement, the newness of their seasons dripping off in waves, so thick I could smell it. But I’ve been caught in kind of a weird place, straddling two seasons, forced to start racing without having left home. The collision has been messier than I was expecting, honestly. On one hand it’s been a huge blessing, getting my parents in on the adventure, able to meet my teammates and to see this side of me, able to finally understand a little more of what this is all about. But on the other, it’s brought a whole new level of stress out between me and my parents, who have bent over backwards to help accommodate us, and have had to let me go without being able to see me leave.
And then there’s the cost of it all, which is finally starting to sink in, I think both in me and in my parents – that while this certainly isn’t the first time I’ve left home, it’s been the first time leaving home that I’ve had clear intentions to not move back in, once this Race was over.
The Bible talks about counting that cost, of leaving everything to follow Jesus. And I’ve always read those verses with a little bit of confusion. But I think this morning it finally started to make sense. I counted, higher and higher, maybe for the first time, not in things I’m leaving behind (as I honestly don’t have many things left) and not in friends I may not see in a while (as the toll of going to school on the East Coast has already made me well accustomed to seasonal goodbyes)… I counted in memories, as I took my bike out this morning, first on an errand intending to come back home, and then back past my house as I kept riding, farther and farther into the town I’ve grown up in my whole life, the streets I’ve driven and the parks I’ve played in. I counted in shops that I passed, places I worked, restaurants I’ve eaten in countless times with countless friends; I counted in water towers and in baseball fields, shadows I pedaled around, sidewalk bumps I rolled over, in the seconds that passed by in peaceful silence. I counted in trees, I counted in fences, I counted in houses I’ve walked by my whole life on my way home from school, and in the driveways of childhood friends I used to play foursquare in or shoot hoops in, where the baskets no longer stand, and the chalk lines are no longer drawn. I counted as I passed the reservoir, the memories of sledding out onto the ice falling gently like snow around me, as the dragonflies rose from the overgrown grass as I passed. I counted as I read the graffiti on the walls, as old as I was, while memories rolled in like old familiar ghosts – memories of fireworks set off, prom dates acquired, minutes that felt like hours as we hid during neighborhood games of Capture the Flag or Ghost in the Graveyard, the smell of the fresh cut grass resonating in the hot afternoon air. I counted on my way out, and I counted on my way home, etching figure 8s into the pavement as I rode one final time down my street, past Eagle Park and the old pool, the troll bridge and the overgrown jungle house, the sound of the traffic off Hicks rolling down the hill in a low growl.
I counted and I counted, getting lost in old neighbors and old friends, highschool football games and freshman year goodbyes. I counted until I lost count completely and I found myself almost inexplicably back where I started. And I made the obligatory final three laps around the cul-de-sac, just like I used to do when I wanted to stay out of the house just a little bit longer. My neighbor waved as she passed and I waved back. And as we finally prepare to leave the house, I leave for launch out of Month 0 HOME and into Month 1 MALAYSIA, nothing with me but the pack on my back and a number on my heart, of all the memories I’d counted that morning, the cost of it all finally tallied and set, able to finally let go and say goodbye without looking back – not that I won't miss things and remember how much everything has meant to me – but with no expectation and not a single plan of where God might put me, as this season of my life comes to an end and the next one begins.
Love, Danny.
