The Theory of Goodbyes™

Yesterday I sold my old Honda Prelude. I thought there would be more Pomp & Circumstance when the moment came to pass over the title, but when the moment Came it just as suddenly Went.

That’s from my third journal entry ever, almost 6 years ago. I coined this phenomenon the Theory of Goodbyes™ after observing it at the tail end of college. I was saying goodbye to friends, acquaintances, strangers, and I noticed that every goodbye you give someone is a near-perfect representation of your relationship with them as a whole. There is room for perhaps about a ±10% deviation. From Harrison Garber, whom I lived a few doors down from in the freshman dorm and greeted with a downwards head nod as Hello for the next four years: here, let’s try an upwards head nod as Goodbye. To Lorenzo Johnson, who I liked but never hung out with one-on-one: I’ll miss ya, man, let’s grab a coffee before you leave town! And the coffee never comes. To Codename: Apples, who I loved deeply in a way I could never articulate into words: let’s spend the final month of my lease together, catching caterpillars and acting like the summer will never end and you won’t have to go away to grad school. When it does, we’ll slip out of Us the same way we slipped into it — without a discussion.

And from my trusty Honda Prelude, who shakes when it idles: one final shudder to give Johan a bit of buyer’s remorse on the way out. And from me, who treated it like shit despite it ultimately getting me from Point A to Point Z for the last 12 years: a final lapse in faith that it would make it all the way down to San Diego, before it — as always — comes through clutch, and the money order hits my bank account and buys me one more month here in LA.

***The Prelude, getting me where I need to go***
The same as it always has.

When the Goodbye comes, there’s no stopping it. A Goodbye is a fixed point in Time that comes whether or not you move towards it. As 4-Dimensional beings trapped in our 3-Dimensional awareness, we forget that even as we stay perfectly still in Space, we are always moving forward in Time. I think that’s Relativity. I don’t know. I think this is what happens at the end of Interstellar. Again, I don’t know. I’ll be honest, I don’t really like that movie.

***Another life update***
I decided to stay in LA and not move to New York.

I stalled this decision for as long as I possibly could, but despite my gnashing I added not even one (1) fraction of a millisecond to the last year. When July came, so did clarity, and thus dissipated the noble idea that moving across the country would not completely & utterly destroy my life and Everything I Have Built So Far. But it’s amazing how, over the last year, I debated this over and over in my head, as if when the time came, this wouldn’t have been the decision I made. I like to think that I have more control over my decisions when, truthfully, I believe most of them were made for me back when we were stardust.

So yes — I’m in LA, again. Did I ever think I could leave? I came here with a mission, 5 years ago, and despite how much I have twisted that vision, or tried to reword it into something else, I followed the pre-written course of my destiny by coming here and I don’t think it’s time for me to deviate quite yet.

***Let’s put it simply***
I still have so much left to do here.

I got lost, the last few years. I won’t even summarize it, because I’ve been telling myself this narrative for too long and I want to forget about it. I wanted a fresh start — can you tell by my last few blog posts? — and I wager I can find that fresh start here, in LA. So I moved into a new loft, back in Hollywood-WeHo cusp, and it feels familiar and like a culmination of everywhere I’ve ever lived up to this point. I’m telling myself now, and you can hold me accountable a year from now: I will not be moving out of this place. I’ve moved 12 times in the last 10 years. No more. This is my home.

Moving into this new loft is my re-commitment to LA, and my dreams, and my career, and my future. It’s been a strange year. It’s been a strange life. I think of the end of Fight Club — “You met me at a very strange time in my life.” I’ve said that to every single girl I’ve ever dated. I’ve said that enough times that I’m starting to think: maybe the default time in my life is strange. It would be stranger if it was normal. To wit — I am ready to re-engage with my life as a small part of a bigger, unknowable story. I’m done hiding out downtown, waiting out the year until my heart is fully healed. Eventually your lease will be up, and month-to-month costs 25% more. So you move on, or you go broke.

***Is the metaphor clear?***
I’m tired.

The scope of this blog is much, much smaller than the previous ones. Since December, I was ramping up into what felt like a natural conclusion with The Book of Max. After that, Gachapon Capsules was an absolute behemoth to write, and I’m a bit Burnt. I miss the casual and more observant tone of my earlier blog posts. So I expect the frequency to Go Up and the word count to Go Down. I think the lack of pressure will be good for all of us.

“Olivia” is out tomorrow and with it, a new era of True Modern Romance and the falling action as the era as a whole begins to wind down. There’s color back in my life. The future, for once, seems wide open. And for the first time in four years, I feel unstuck. So to the Honda Prelude, and my old life: thank you.

And to you, dear reader: ’til next time.
-mbk