So the Festival Rhythmes du Monde is past, and I've finally (after putting it off for ages) finished my packing. I feel a nagging sense of grief, actually. Yes, I'm excited about the future, about moving in with Stephanie, but at the same time, I feel the apprehension of leaving behind my security net. Because whatever else these past ten months at my Dad's house has been, it's been a soft place to fall. Rent-free, yo. Holla!
But in all seriousness, through the rottenest time of my adult life, I've had my family rally around me, and champion my cause. They have comforted me, and given me so much space (which is a big deal for a family as close as mine) to just be alone, to sit and hurt, but most of all, to heal. Dad and Brigitte have been the bomb. Never a hint of any variation on the theme: it's time for you to get the heck out of here, you freeloader. They accepted me where I was at, not on the condition of me getting to where they knew I ought to be (and was eventually capable of being). Love does cover over all sins.
Now, I must truly be a grown up again, and begin to take care of myself, through good times and bad, and there will be no more hiding from the world. It's a good thing, I know, and I've been wanting it for awhile now, but nevertheless, it's still hard to let go. Maybe if my little bro woke me up in the morning blasting some crunk music for old times sake, that would tip me out of the nest with no regrets...
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