On Leaving
... or when leaving becomes arriving
“Sometimes everything has to be inscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you … You are not leaving. Even as the light fades quickly now,
you are arriving …” ~ David Whyte, The Journey
As I was leaving my house this morning for a walk in the Griffith park with Mala, it struck me that I am leaving - once again. This time I am leaving LA and moving to Big Bear to work at a retreat center. This should not feel no different than any other time, I thought to myself, as I have done this so many times I can’t even count. But, for some reason, it feels a bit strange; there is some fear lingering, a nostalgia for the familiar and comfortable (although, not perfect at all) life in LA that I am leaving behind, but also an excitement of the unknown that is ahead of me. It’s a very subtle feeling and as I have practiced it on so many past occasions, I can catch it as it unfolds, and be with it, without judging myself for feeling it, and without distracting from it. I have been more sensitive and emotional these days, though, and the grief may be a bit more dominant than the excitement, at the moment.
I have been actively and consciously leaving for the past 17 years. I left my country of birth, Serbia, in 2006 and moved to Hawaii for graduate school. After I graduated in 2008, I moved to Washington DC, for a prestigious internship in the field of conflict resolution and mediation; however, this period turned out to be very difficult two years due to the deep recession in the US. Wonderful things happened too - this is where I met my (now ex) husband. We left DC together and moved to San Diego, California in 2010. In San Diego I found a job in education and sales (not my previous interest or career path at all), which I ended after a year, and got the opportunity to study a yoga teacher training program. San Diego, as beautiful as it may be, was very limited with job offers, and so we moved to Los Angeles in 2012. My next job position was an unusual mix of yoga and business development, which, then, transitioned into the entertainment industry, where I worked with fitness and wellness professionals and brands; again, very different career path. Who would’ve thought I would have ended up here - you don’t actually go to school to prepare yourself for a job in the entertainment industry - it’s all about who you know and who knows you and how good you are with people.
There was a brief period in 2015/2016 when I moved to Sedona, Arizona, to be closer to my Buddhist Sangha and my Heart Lama. I spent maybe six, seven months in Sedona, while working remotely. Maybe because of its many powerful energetic vortexes or the fact that I was early and shaky in my recovery, maybe because it was not a place for me to begin with, but I wasn’t doing well, despite all the community and support I was receiving there. I went back to Los Angeles eventually. I learnt an important lecture, though, that no matter where and how far I go and travel, I can never run away from myself and my feelings. You know what they say - “wherever you go, there you are”. Years prior to me moving there, I visited Sedona and I was in a very good mental and emotional place, so Sedona felt amazing and its energy made me feel even better. But this time around, I was not balanced to begin with, and the powerful energy of Sedona just multiplied and intensified those feelings (similar to what Mother Bali does to you).
Meanwhile, I left my marriage in the end of 2012, and we both stayed in Los Angeles, and moved on with our lives. I read something from David Whyte recently, where he says that the most difficult thing about ending an intimate relationship is leaving the dreams that the two of you shared together. This is so true even on a smallest scale of just realizing that the plans we had for Thanksgiving and Christmas of 2012 changed completely, let alone all other things we had planned for our life together. It took some time to grieve this breakup, as I do usually refer to this relationship to probably the healthiest intimate relationship in my life. We remain friends, and he is still a family.
“One of the difficulties of leaving a relationship is not so much, at the end, leaving the person themselves — because, by that time, you’re ready to go; what’s difficult is leaving the dreams that you shared together. And you know that somehow — no matter who you meet in your life in the future, and no matter what species of happiness you would share with them — you will never, ever share those particular dreams again, with that particular tonality and coloration. And so there’s a lovely and powerful form of grief there that is the ultimate of giving away but making space for another form of reimagination.” ~ David Whyte
I left many relationships in my life; as a matter of fact, I think I was the one who left all of them. I had this pattern where it would be (almost too) AMAZING in the beginning, and then it would become a bit complex and complicated (which is probably just a normal development in any relationship), and by that time I already wanted out. And, very soon, I would do it. I would practically end a relationship before it began. Sometimes I would just leave a relationship; other times, I would leave a country too. Rarely (if ever) had I experienced the situation in which I was staying behind. This was my self-preservation method. Somehow, I learnt very early in my life that it is less painful and devastating to leave than to be the one who stayed behind.
I think it was Thich Nhat Hanh who wrote “Leaving love behind is never easy, for it also asks that we leave behind the part of ourselves that did the loving.” This is so interesting. I wonder, how much of myself I have left behind and lost in all the intimate relationships I had in my adult life. Every time I left, a little peace stayed behind. And what about the friendships? Where is that part of myself who did the loving - is she lost forever or is this still her - changed, modified, updated, upgraded version of that same person? And, do I still have enough loving to give after all the decades of past relationships? I don’t have answers to these questions, at least not yet.
“Once we accept that even between the closest human beings infinite distances continue to exist, we can live wonderfully side by side. As long as we succeed in loving the distance between one another, each of us can see each other as whole against the sky.”
~ Rainer Maria Rilke
Since I move often, I had to leave behind many friends and arrive to new places that would open up some new friendships. Leaving friendships was always harder for me than leaving romantic relationships. There was always grief hanging around. Sometimes guilt, too. And at the same time, after doing it so many times, I got used to it, I learnt to “preserve” myself somehow, and at times I would even think that I might be too “cold” and indifferent when it comes to leaving my relationships. I also learnt that no matter how large a distance between friends, if connection is true and deep, the friendship remains. It might require more time and maintenance, but it is still there. From my friends’ perspective, however, it was often very different (since most of the time they would be staying behind), and this can be much more painful. I once witnessed a very close friend of twenty some years tell me “You are leaving me again.” And, as much as we both knew that I am not really leaving her, I was leaving; again. I guess in these situations I’ve always tried to remain strong, because if I hadn’t, I might have completely fallen apart and it would have been the two of us then. And I could not allow that to happen.
With intimate relationships, however, ending and leaving them was usually very different. More hopeful and freeing. More arriving than leaving. And less lonely and devastating. In the words of David Whyte, it is “a harrowing yet hopeful act of leaving a wounding relationship and rewriting what was once a shared future into a solitary turn toward the greater possibilities of the unknown”.
Let me continue the story about leaving places … One of the most painful moves was in 2018 when I left Los Angeles. The whole process was scary and uncertain. I had a tough year, 2017, and in the beginning of 2018 I just had to let go of everything, including the idea of me living and belonging in LA. Every thing I owned that I didn’t really need, the apartment I was renting, the car I was leasing, and even some (extra) clothes and books that I owned. I gave many things away, returned some other, and shut the door (literally) on my apartment and, with that, my old life. I remember the exact moment when I was exiting my apartment, one last glance at it, and that empty space that once was my safe haven and a place I called home. It took some time, but I did realize in the end that this moment of leaving actually meant freedom for me - the less things I owned and the less I was attached to them, the freer I am. There is a space and possibility. And I have been living like this since.
I spent the next 5 months living with my friend and her little daughter, and traveling around the US (and Canada) to visit dear friends and family, and some of my favorite destinations. It was a break up, an ending, leaving a relationship with the US, and at the same time I was about to embark on something very new and unknown to me, and I was excited and hopeful.
After visiting my family in Serbia for a few weeks, in June of 2018 I landed in Thailand. That was my first time in Southeast Asia, and I knew I was in the right place. I was about to start a job in a mindfulness recovery residential center in the middle of a tiny village close to Chiang Rai, a small town in the north of Thailand. I spent a year there, with occasional trips to nearby villages and towns of beautiful and lush Northern Thailand, Bangkok and south of Thailand, as well as Myanmar and Vietnam. Maybe it was because of my burn out, maybe because it was difficult for me to stay in one place for too long (it seems that 2 years was my cut off time - in this case, somehow, it was one year), or maybe because it did not feel like home, but I have left Thailand in June 2019.
Usually, Serbia is the place where I go back to (very briefly) until I come up with a new plan. So, that is where I landed when I left Thailand. I spent some time with my family and friends, and I even entertained the idea of staying longer and settling there for a while, but after five months I felt claustrophobic, anxious and overwhelmed. I have a very ambiguous relationship with Serbia. I recognize how some of my traits and tendencies are representing the people of the region, and I also have a lot of resistance and rejection of the place, and I can’t spend too much time there. I feel deeply the darkness and heavy energy when I am there, and I carry this strong melancholy in me; this feeling as if I carry the pain of the numerous generations and ancestors of my birth country. It is a place where I was born, and one of the places that made me who I am today, but certainly not the only one, and definitely not the one that feels like home to me. However, something is different these days than it used to be. I no longer am running away nor feel like I am escaping Serbia; today I simply can say that I choose not to live there longterm.
So, I left Serbia (again) and moved to Bali in December of 2019. It was a love at first sight. I arrived home. I left everything else behind and arrived home. It was unbelievable to me that a place completely different than any other I have lived or visited before, or dreamt about, can feel so familiar, so close to my heart, and how much of missing and lacking there was as a result of not discovering it earlier. Covid-19 started while I was in Bali. Not once did I consider leaving. In my mind I moved there so whatever happens, this is where I live now. And I am so grateful I haven’t left. I have experienced the island in all its beauty and serenity, without tourists, filth, noise, traffic and pollution. Those of us who stayed there (and, of course, those who already lived in Bali for a while) gave our best to support the local community and got to know some of the local population quite closely. What a gift. What an honor. I am certain that I will never have the opportunity to see Bali with those eyes.
“Every dreamer knows that it is entirely possible to be homesick for a place you've never been to, perhaps more homesick than for familiar ground.” ~ Judith Thurman
However, as we all know, there was a very dark side to Covid; it was relentless and difficult for many. It certainly affected everyone, one way or another. I had a privilege of working (online) with many clients worldwide, and was able to support them and provide safe space for them. Many of my dear friends from the recovery community are no longer with us; death all of a sudden became so real and pervasive. People coming and going, leaving and staying behind, and many of us just standing and witnessing this crazy time. Sometime in the beginning of 2022 it became very difficult for me too. I was feeling a lot of anxiety and restlessness - I moved 18 times in 2.5 years that I spent in Bali, and most of these times were during that one challenging year! Talk about coming and going, leaving and arriving. All of a sudden, I could not get any peace, no matter where I was. I knew what I had to do.
I left Bali in August of 2022. There was never a feeling that this was a definite and final decision. Bali is one of my homes. But, for now, me and Bali are taking a break. Between leaving Bali and sitting in Los Angeles where I am right now writing this essay (actually, I am in Big Bear at the moment of publishing this post), it has been eight and a half months. In between this period of time, I have been in Portugal, Serbia, Barbados, again Portugal, briefly Barcelona, again Serbia. Truly, I am not bragging about it, I am just trying to paint a picture of what coming and going means for me; this concept of leaving places, people, lives and arriving to new places, meeting new people, and living a new and different life. This has been my life for the past 17 years. And (for the most part) I enjoy it very much. It hasn’t been easy or carefree, or always pleasant and comfortable for that matter, but it was worth every pain, challenge and discomfort that it brought. I would not change anything about it.
There is a concept in recovery called “pulling a geographic” which describes a silly and pretty irrational belief that if one changes their location - a place of living - it will solve their life problems and will help them in their recovery, it will strengthen it. Of course, this is irrational, but many recovering addicts still do it, especially in a beginning of their journey. I have done several of these myself. I have done this with relationships too. And it is so important to recognize them and acknowledge them as we can learn a lot about ourselves, our behavioral patterns, and also our recovery, from them. However, it is equally important to recognize when moving and exploring, coming and going, leaving and arriving, is part of your adventurous spirit, of your seeker identity, and not necessarily a desperate way to find a better life, or run away from your self and your problems. Sometimes you just need a change of scenery, too.
I have been a seeker my whole life. I have always loved new, unexplored countries and cultures, diversity and change. Don’t get me wrong, it is terrifying at times, but I have always known, deep inside of myself, that it is how I grow, it is how I thrive, and it is a lifestyle I want to live. I have left so many times. And I have arrived even more. There is nothing more exhilarating for me than arriving.
Mary Oliver “THE JOURNEY”
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.
