In general, beginnings are far more fun and happy than endings. Though I suppose there are some endings that we look forward to (the end of an illness, the end of a job or project we don’t like, the end of winter), mostly we think of endings as sad because many are.
It’s hard to imagine a lot of endings, often they come at us very unexpectedly, and we’re left struggling to figure out how to process the loss. Leaving here isn’t unexpected, yet after all these years, I still haven’t learned to be peaceful or accepting of it.
I know my unhappiness isn’t just because of leaving but also because of the end of summer. While the pumpkin spice brigade is going on about how brilliant wearing sweaters and scarves is, all I think about is the lack of freedom every season other than summer brings. Coats, hats, socks, gloves to keep from frostbite. Nostrils freezing closed the minute you step out the door. Darkness for months on end. I do not see the appeal in any way and no amount of hot chocolate or pumpkin spice can make up for it. Thinking about it, I realize that freedom is an ongoing theme of my overall happiness. Summer is freedom, it’s the only season that truly is. It goes back to being out of school in the summer, it is the season of ultimate, easy-going, freedom.
It’s always heart-wrenching to leave, but throw in the extra curveball of being sick for the last ten days of my time in Provence, and feeling sad doesn’t begin to scratch the surface of how it made me feel. The weather was stunningly perfect and summery for many days, and I couldn’t take advantage of it. Everytime I heard a bike go by, I ached to be out there with them. I managed a few meagre outings, but there’s nothing like going on epic rides to quiet places soaking up the views and the soulful energy. It has become, more and more, my solace, my meditation, and undeniably necessary for my well-being to be out in the countryside on my bike. And this place, this place has healing and magical powers like none other for me. I am the best version of myself when I am here, and I know it. It’s hard to go back to being a lesser person and being fully aware of it with absolutely no ability to change it. It’s physically and mentally impossible for me to be the same person anywhere else. It just is.
But here it is, the end of summer and the end of my time in Provence. I am not sure why I can’t get through it without weeping regularly or being profoundly, deeply heartbroken. Everything I see, the life and nature around me gives me such joy. Knowing I must leave it behind to go to a place that will be brown and rather dead is a level of depressing I can’t express. While my gratitude for every minute I’ve spent in Provence is enormous, the loss I feel every time I leave is equally expansive. I suppose the bright side is knowing I have been so lucky to have found a place utterly perfect for me. I’ll hold that in my heart until I can return.
