One Life One Encounter

I’m sitting in my apartment on a Saturday night after spending the day surrounded by old and new friends — watching UT football at a local bar, laughing, sharing food and easy conversation. My heart feels full and fractured all at once. I’m immensely grateful for a day like this, and yet quietly grieving what I know is coming — the leaving.

I’ve committed myself these next few weeks to truly embrace every moment, to soak in the people and places that have filled my cup for so long. But beneath the gratitude, there’s a gentle mourning — a sadness for not having slowed down to do this sooner. For so long I’ve been hyper-focused on saving, planning, preparing for what lies ahead. Now I find myself trying to drink deeply from every remaining moment here, to taste the marrow of this life I’ve built in the city I love.

Tonight, over dinner with Emily, I broke down in tears. It was the first time I allowed myself to really say out loud how sad I am to leave. People often assume that when you set out on a new path, you’re running away from something. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

I’m not running away. I’m running toward.

I love this life I’ve created. I love this city. Every morning, on my drive to work, I watch the sunrise spill over the skyline and whisper thanks — for another day in a place that has held me so gently. I’ve spent years building a circle of friends who lift me higher than I ever thought possible. The gravity of my decision isn’t lost on me; it sits heavy on my chest some nights, the knowing that love is hard to leave.

Even so, I trust the timing. I know the path ahead is one the universe has long been setting in motion. This isn’t wandering — it’s alignment. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to let go of something so good.

Ironically, now that I’ve committed to leaving, I feel more alive here than ever before. I’m seeing this city, these people, this version of my life — with fresh eyes. It’s a reminder, maybe to myself and maybe to you, to be here now. To cherish what’s in front of you before it becomes something you miss.

I know my friendships will endure, even as they shift. I know there will be moments of loneliness, of longing, of questioning. But I also know this is what growth looks like — the aching kind, the beautiful kind.

For tonight, though, I cry.
Because love — real love — is hard to leave.

“To love a place, a moment, a life — and still choose to leave it — is its own kind of bravery.”

-A