Yesterday was my last day of work. It was the first real ending that I’ll have to encounter here at home before I leave for JVC. The next ones, where I’ll have to say good bye to my college friends after Italy and where I’ll have to leave my home, friends, and family, scare me more than I can say. It don’t feel emotionally ready to say the correct parting words. I know they’ll stick in my throat, and I’m afraid I’ll choke on them.

I assumed that leaving work yesterday would be easy. Surprisingly, I had a hard time leaving the office, which does not bode well for the coming farewells. For as much as I’ve complained about working at the Chautauqua Institution, it was a solid job, and it relates directly to what I want to do in my life after JVC. I had the opportunity to see governors, Supreme Court justices, and authors speak and watch operas and concerts. When Al Gore came to speak, I had to drive back to pick up papers. Additionally, working at the newspaper woke a love and passion for writing that I had allowed to lie dormant, smothered under fears about living in poverty and wasting my degree. Likewise, the people who live at the Institution can be abrasive, but I’ve worked with some amazing people in the Daily office. I reacted more than I thought I would to leaving. I felt the pangs of sadness just as much as when I left Canisius. I suppose I underestimated the power that working in one place for four summers will have on you and the impact it can have on your life. The hardest part was when I watched my replacement, the person who held the job before me and who they snagged at the last minute, sit in my chair and do my job, as if I hadn’t sat in that exact chair for four years, as if I had never worked there.

Truly, goodbyes have never been my strength. I’m not one of those people who relish the end of things. I’ve always been the person to hide in an attempt to confront the reality of finality. Yesterday, I wanted to sneak out before I had to take part in the receiving line of “See you later”-es and “Keep in touch”-es that never materialize in any substantial way. My boss wouldn’t let me, and that fact made walking out of there ten times more difficult. While I avoided being forced to say my farewells before the entire newsroom, she made me wait until the “important” people were back until she let me leave.

When things change, I tend to think too much of lasts. This fact was ridiculously evident in my last week at school: I emphasized the last meal with this person, the last time hanging out with this person, the last time on this street, the last time as this type of person. I always convince myself, maybe not completely erroneously, that I’ll never see certain people or experience certain emotions again. I scare myself by attempting to cling too much to what I know is passing away and can never be regained. I have to tell myself that I can’t remain in the same place, doing the same things for the rest of my life. I want to move on, but I have a natural tendency to want things to remain as they are, even if the conditions are not ideal. I know in my heart that I would never be completely satisfied working as an assistant at the Daily, even for a boss as great as Melissa. I only dealt with the annoyances of the job, like the demanding customers, the crazy hours, and the ridiculous commute, because I knew it was temporary. In truth, I’d never want to do advertising full-time; it doesn’t fit my personality. There’s too much pandering, especially in a place like Chautauqua. So, while it might be familiar and comfortable, staying in my current job would undoubtedly be a mistake.

Herein lies my anxiety with the next year: comfort and familiarity do not necessarily reflect the perfect path. My philosophy for conducting the rest of my life since I became an adult is to take unnecessary risks, to expand my thinking and explore. Second thoughts be damned, because I want my life to be different, to be significant somehow. Maybe that’s vain, but maybe one has to be a little vain when seeking a future or a sense of self. I haven’t found out how I can be significant yet, so I guess this attempt at journaling is my humble version of On the Road. I’ve never been great at keeping up with a journal or making it halfway decent literarily, but in my recent stint of self improvement, I’ve made myself a sort of New Year’s resolution to keep up with this record. Maybe this journal can be my way to hang on to the familiar, to refuse to say good bye, but to remind myself and others that I still exist, even after leaving the world I know for something completely new.