useless post.

As i'm working my way through "Desperate Housewives" on netflix I've been sometimes in that zone where i'm both frustrated and relieved by how emotional it's been able to get me. But the episode that really should have me in tears has only made me content and empowered. I think that means something...

I felt that sense of coincidence when I realized that it was in the last episode of season six that Susan expressed her range of emotions at leaving the place she'd come to call home. When I leave Alaska this spring, I'll be just shy of the six-year anniversary of getting off the ferry in Skagway for the first time. Coincidences like that normally serve to enhance the emotional response I experience. This time, it enhanced my sense of purpose and accomplishment in deciding to move on.

Since I've been in Skagway there's never been a time, until recently, that I desperately wanted to leave. There's never been a time when I haven't wanted to spend the rest of my life here. There's never been a moment, until recently, that I've felt like I could stand to be gone from Skagway for more than a few days. Every time some sort of circumstance forced me to confront the possibility that I might need to move (generally brought on by financial difficulties mid-winter) I have been overwhelmed by a flood of nostalgia and attachments to the place I've chosen to live for this chapter of my life and the people who come with it.

But suddenly that's just not the case anymore. And it really seemed to happen overnight.

I guess I just never really thought that my Alaska adventure would end. I kind of always assumed it was going to last the rest of my life.

I never thought I'd be able to get enough of it. And, truth be told, I haven't. I can never tire of seeing bears, moose, lynx, coyotes, wolves, porcupines, eagles, seals, sea lions, and whales in my backyard (literal and metaphorical backyard). I am never not struck by the majesty and wonder of the aurora, no matter how minor the light show. The mountains around me never make me feel enclosed or locked in; they fill me with awe, contentment, peace.

Ugh. To be honest, I really want to write a lot more about this. But, in a testament to how non-emotional I am about it, it's not something I really feel like I can express in words. I don't really have much to say about moving.

When I watched that episode of Desperate Housewives where Susan moves out of the neighborhood, I felt inspired to write a blog about my impending move. But, for how major of an event it is, I don't really have anything eloquent or "look at me i'm a writer"-ish to say about it. It's just one of those matter-of-fact things that seems in my mind a lot less momentous than it seems to be in everyone else's.

So it is that this blog turns out to be not just the chronicle of my fifth Alaskan winter, but the documentation of my final Alaskan winter.

It's odd to me how detached I've felt from the emotions that should go along with this. I know that what I will miss the most, allegedly, are the people I've come to love in Skagway and the small-town feel of it... but... I hate to say it... when my friends are getting emotional and reacting to my decision to move, telling me how much they'll miss me and so on... even then I don't really have a lot to contribute. I go through the motions, I say the words, I let them know that I'll miss them too -- and I'm sure i will miss them -- but I'm just so ready to be done with Skagway and all its demons that I'm not even worried about missing my friends. I'm not sure if that's part of being self-involved, or if it's part of being a robot.

A few nights ago after work I rode out to the flats with a friend because the sky was so clear we could see what must have been every single star in the galaxy. We rode out on the snowy, icy, slushy roads and stopped at a spot I'm sure I've walked or driven on hundreds of times. We sat in the dark and watched the glow and subtle curtains of the northern lights in one of those amazing places that make you feel like you're in the middle of nowhere and miles away from civilization in spite of the fact that you really aren't.

As I watched the lights and stars from our perch right out by the high tide mark, I felt like there should have been some response other than the one I felt. I should have felt "am I really sure I want to leave this?" or "This might be the last time I see this, I'm so sad." Nope. Instead, I was energized with the thought of "I'm so glad that I got a chance to experience this again."

OK, apparently i have a lot more to write on this subject but i'm floundering. End useless blog post. I'll revisit it later. I'm sure when I'm on vacation in a few days, out of town for the first extended period in almost a year, I'll have some nostalgia. Vegas and Wisconsin, here I come. It's a trial run in saying goodbye to Skagway...