Countdown to Another Goodbye

The countdown began long ago, but now it reaches its critical point.  It seems that almost from the day I arrived in Zimbabwe, I’ve been counting down.  Calculating. 

“I’ve got 42 days with the cats, better make them count. “  “Maybe I can get 16 horseback rides if, if I make sure to go this day and this day and this day.”

“35 cat days left, make ‘em count.”

“12 more rides with Gaza, make ‘em count.”

“20 cat days left, M.E.C.”

“7 rides left with Gaza, M.E.C.”

“13 more days with the cats, M.E.C.”

“4 more Gaza rides, M.E.C.”

As the numbers in my countdown got lower, the countdown grew more frantic, more serious, more bursting with foreboding.  It became nostalgic and fatalistic.

And today, I said to myself:

“4 more days with the cats, M.E.C.”

“2 more rides with Gaza, M.E.C.”

The reality that I leave Zimbabwe and the farm on Friday has set in.  Yesterday, I said goodbye to Leanne and her son Caleb, the daughter and grandson of my next-door neighbors.  Tomorrow, I must say goodbye to my riding buddy, Ella, and her family, who depart for Cape Town the following morning.  Tuesday, I will have a final dinner and games’ night at Cath and Lance’s house.  Wednesday, I will have my final horseback ride.  Thursday, I will teach Christoph for the last time.  Hardest of all, I will take my cats to Harare, to their new [temporary or permanent, TBD] home. 

And Friday morning, I will hop on a flight to Namibia and pick up where I left off with Bruno.

Now, don’t get me wrong – I am indeed looking forward to nomadic adventures with a lovely man, explorations of one another and new places.  But, for every new adventure, every new hello, - every yin – there is an accompanying departure, a goodbye, – a yan.  And the goodbyes are hard.

It’s hard to say why goodbyes are so difficult for me.  Perhaps it is because, as a positive person, I always find several reasons why a particular place is to be cherished and missed.  Or perhaps it is because I am nostalgic, ever-idealizing places and people once they become just out of reach.  Or, just maybe it is because I am fatalistic.  Whenever I leave a place, I can hear a little voice deep down inside me saying, “You better make this a good goodbye, because you’ll never be here again.”  And so I grow sad, I weep, I try to hold on to the passing moment just.a.little.longer.  Because what if the voice is right, what if I never make it back here again?

My fatalistic mentality crept up on me in London, while I was with my friend Richard.  As we walked down the streets of my favorite area of London, Primrose Hill, I sighed and said – almost to myself – that this would be the last time I would ever walk down these beautiful streets.  Richard, ever the challenger, questioned my thinking.  Why did I think I would never be back in London again?  How did I know?  Didn’t I think that if I put it in my mind that I would perhaps be back someday, that it would be more likely to be true?

And so I tried to think that, maybe someday, I would walk in Primrose Hill again.  I suppose it’s possible.  Why not?  I am the master of my own destiny – if I want to walk in Primrose Hill again, so be it, I shall walk in Primrose Hill again.

As I sit here, pondering the meaning behind my countdown, I need to take Richard’s words of wisdom to heart.  Who is to say I will never be in Zimbabwe again?  Who is to say I will never step foot on this farm, ride these horses, see these people?  Who is to say I will never see my cats again?  Perhaps if I keep the possibility of all this open in my mind, it would be more likely to happen?

And besides, I seem to remember a similar blog entry some months ago wishing farewell to the things I hold dear to me in this country and this life.  Who knew, at the moment of that difficult goodbye, that I would be back here again so soon?

And so, even though I shall find it impossible NOT to countdown my final four days here, I shall try to do it happily – thinking of the adventures ahead, which could, perhaps even include another trip to Zimbabwe!