The Call

Sitting in a Moroccan hotel conference room using the most reliable Internet I had in months, I read the lyrics a friend sent to me. The song, he said, was to remind me that goodbyes aren’t forever.

Three months later, the song floats through my ear buds while writing a story for ThePostSD, my first since I stepped down as editor. I am hunched down in the corner of a coffee shop, one that I dreamt about overseas and that has contained more of my time than any other location that sells caffeinated beverages.

I came to this spot to meet someone. I say someone because I don’t know how else to describe her. Supervisor. Mentor. Life coach. A second mother.

“It’s surreal to see you right now,” she said as walked into the shop and gave me a hug.

We caught up on the last few months, sharing as many stories as we could in a sitting. It felt the same and different at once, just like most experiences I’ve had since January 12, 2011.

Rehashing the those emotions and details made it hard to believe that it’s only been three months and it’s already been three months.

“You’ll come back when it’s over.”

That grand adventure is over and I’ve come back, just like the song says.

But, the difference between the Moroccan hotel and the coffee shop is acceptance. This my life, my current path. It’s all one grand adventure.

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