Saying Goodbye

As i have become a part of Emily’s life, even as peripheral a one as i maintain, Shelly has taught me lots of tricks about being a parent. Many of them i don’t remember, but some i do: Never be above bribing your children into good behavior. Sometimes lowering your voice is just as effective as raising your voice. Taking something away that a kid really wants can be made easier if you just ask them to say goodbye to it.

So many of the goodbyes i made on Sunday seemed like the shallow, one-sided goodbyes of a child to a beloved toy. They were goodbyes to people and places that, for the most part, can never return my regret at parting, for one reason or another.

This is the last photograph i will ever take of Kansas…


it is the Flint Hills, one of my favorite places. Riding the highway along the rolling ridges is like treading the crests of frozen green ocean waves. i will miss this. i will think fondly of the first time i beheld it, and the soaring feeling of freedom that came along with it. i said goodbye to Kansas. i can’t say that i will never return. i would like to, but that is a naive notion (as is, i suppose, the declaration that i will never photograph it again) and you can never say never. If nothing else, it was and will always be a place people have to drive through to get elsewhere. If i ever do that, i will think of when i knew it as so much more.

i crossed the border just south of Kansas City. And when i put Kansas in my rearview mirror, i left a lot of one-sided goodbyes there too.

First and foremost, Jeff, my reason for being here in the first place, and whom i still think about every day, much in the same way that i think of Emily every day. They are two people i loved with my whole heart, but for very different reasons, i did not belong in their lives. i will walk on, as i always do. But i fear his resentment of me will be a shadow that always walks a few steps behind. There were so many moments in these last weeks when i deeply wished we could have shared goodbyes. i don’t know if it would have given me the closure i am seeking, but for all we shared, it would have been nice to begin and end this adventure on his doorstep.

The Midwest. We tangled, she won. A beautiful and unforgiving place. i thought i would come out here and change the world. If i opened a few minds, or even one, i move on believing that is the best i could do.

Wichita. The perfect city. On my visit to Philadelphia, the first thing i did was get lost! Once done, i stopped relying on Google maps and returned my faith to my navigational genius. i was good after that. But it has been a much easier task out where the grids are aligned to the compass. Or where there are grids at all! Wichita is a city with everything you could ever want to do: the symphony, Indian food, good airport, baseball… all surrounded by stark openness. Where you can go from skyscraper to wheat field in ten minutes flat. Where there’s never traffic, but there’s enough people for anyone to find friends.

My school. It has so much potential, all of it wrapped up in the kids and the faculty. i wish great things for it as it attempts to better guide that potential, as it tries to determine who it is, where it fits in, and what it wants to accomplish. The mire is thick, but it can be done. Make me proud guys – no, make yourselves proud.

Last but not least, my friends, who are scattering literally to the ends of the nation. Many began while i was away last month. Ben barely knew me at the start of last year, and i don’t know if he realizes how instrumental he nonetheless was in keeping my head above water through both heartbreak and crisis. Amanda, who i thought was just a silly blond party girl, and who showed me the great depth and understanding i look for in my closest friends, all while drinking a beer and watching football. Sarah, who has introduced me to some very cool shows, and who commiserated with me in a crucial moment. Will, the most complicated fratboy i’ve ever known.


When i was a child, i loved the pool. So much so that my mother had difficulty getting me to leave at the end of the day. She recalls hoisting me under one arm while i kicked and cried, screeching at the top of my lungs, “goodbye swimming pool; my mama won’t let me be with you anymore!”

And so now, aged 30, and quieter, but no less heartbroken, i say, “goodbye Kansas. We can’t be together anymore. You brought me more joy than sorrow, but we’re just not right for one another. Be proud like the pioneer spirit. Be strong and true and achingly free. But maybe a little more open minded, if you can manage that.”