2,252

It all happens so fast.

One night, you're lying on the couch, queuing up the next episode of Doctor Who, passing the minutes with crosswords puzzles and computers games, and the next, you're thousands of miles away. Or at least, that's how it happened for me.


See, I got a job. It's a great position, sounds interesting, and is almost exactly what I went to school for. However, this particular job is over two thousands miles from "home." In fact, it's exactly 2,252 miles from Rochester.

As someone who in constantly in a state of wanting to run away, this is not awful, until you start to think about everything you're leaving behind when you leave someplace. I've wrote already about how much I loved New York and and living there. However, I tend to shy away from the more difficult concepts, like this one:

Suddenly, with very little warning, after not even five amazing months, I've suddenly found myself in a long-distance relationship; an LDR if you're Twitter or Cosmo.

There's lots acronyms I prefer to LDR. I'm a huge fan of LBDs, as there's a perfect one for nearly every occasion. DINK families are pretty rad, as they can afford many luxuries in life without having to worry about children.

But, alas, I am not in a LBD. Darn it. Instead, I somehow have to deal with the fact that I am two thousand two hundred and fifty two miles away from the one person I want to see every day, whose hug can calm me down and fix everything.

I cried at the airport.

I was just sitting outside the departures on the curb with all my giraffe-print suitcases, waiting for mom to return the rental car and come back so we could lug our baggage over to the check-in counter, and I cried.

A couple with an older lady came by and asked what was wrong. "I'm moving away," I said, and they nodded knowingly. "We just dropped our daughter off at college," the younger woman said, "so I totally understand."

The man jumped in as well, "You'll do great. You've packed great. We've all shed our share of tears."

These complete strangers somehow reminded me that even though I'm two thousand miles and then some away from what I still consider my home, that I will find something worth crying over when I leave the little haven I'll create in Arizona. And isn't that really what matters? Not the eight states you'd drive through or the thirty three hours it would take - but the little things that leave us crying outside the departure gate of an airport - like lying on the couch and watching Doctor Who, or doing a crossword puzzle together.