Two Steps Forward, One Look Back.

"Son of a biscuit eater!!!" I yelled as a trash can full of my belongings fell out of the open car door and onto my bare foot. As my curling iron rolled to an unreachable place under the back tire of my tiny Jetta, my tears began to fall softly, slow at first and then in a flood-like fashion. Sitting on the floor of our parking garage I put my head to my knees and wondered whether the tears were a result of the fact that I absolutely hate moving (yet somehow find myself doing it at least twice a year) or whether they were coming from a deeper, realer place.

Two hours later I was ready to get on the road. "How are you feeling about everything?" my mother's voice boomed into my ear. "You don't have to yell, you're on speaker phone" I replied. "But I'm feeling good and I really think I made the right decision. So I guess there's no looking back now." Five minutes and a little white lie about having the pressure in my tires checked before the drive later, I hung up with my mother and was left alone with my thoughts and a car packed full of my life.

As I pulled out of the garage and into the neighborhood of Seattle that I had grown to both love and hate for it's noisy streets and extremely eclectic people, I couldn't help but look back. I found myself constantly checking my rearview mirror for a final glimpse at my life over the past six months. As I turned down the familiar streets in our neighborhood, I saw all the regulars that we had come to know and love. The family of four that were permanently drunk, asking for money, and always lurking in the alley behind our apartment, the he/she that sold Real Change newspapers and commented on me and Darcy's outfits every time we passed his/her street corner, the crazy haired second hand book store owner that I once shared an unexpected conversation and a few tissues with. In my rearview mirror I saw the burger joint that we frequented on the late night far too often, and memories of three of us singing our order into the microphone behind the counter one night came flooding back to me. I saw the art store that we spent hours in, picking out materials for craft nights and I saw Linda's, our favorite outdoor patio bar with the best mac and cheese Seattle has to offer.

As I merged onto the freeway I checked my rearview mirror again and saw Qwest and Safeco Field where nights in the beer gardens spent prowling on guys rather than cheering on our home team came rushing back to me. I thought of the hot dog stand owner that I willing gave my phone number to after a late night game, one too many eight dollar beers, and five minutes of convincing the girls that because of me, we would get a lifetime supply of free hot dogs. I remembered dancing to the beat of an aspiring drummer in the streets outside the stadium with Taylor not caring who was watching or how much time passed. And I laughed out loud thinking of Madison in the beer garden making eyes at one of the pitchers in the bullpen, stating that if he could, he would ask for her number.

In the far distance behind me I could see Queen Anne hill and my thoughts drifted to the night before and the cause for my current headache and fatigue. A going away party of the best kind. A great dinner with amazing friends followed by a Thursday night never to forget, or remember for that matter. I couldn't help but smile when thinking about how we took over the back bar of Pesos, drinking, dancing and being too obnoxious for our own good. Then I cringed as I recalled how we moved the party to the next bar over and found ourselves totally caught up in the moment and the underground karaoke scene that is clearly much bigger than we ever knew. Why I chose to sing "Say a Little Prayer For You" techno version I will never know, and I actually still do feel bad about blatantly boo-ing the girls that sang before us, belting out "My Humps" with choreographed dance moves to match. However, I really can't help but think that I could not have left Seattle in a better fashion. Surrounded by those that I love the most in the city, terrorizing souls, and of course making one last run to our favorite burger joint.

I merged again onto yet another freeway, the one that would take me all the way East. As I got further and further from the city and the place that six months prior I was convinced would be my home for an extended period of time, I found myself looking in my rearview mirror once again. There I saw the space needle perfectly placed in all it's glory, reminding me what an amazing city Seattle is, how much I had grown to love the people and the vibe, but also at the same time, taunting me to stay. "You have not seen the last of me Seattle" I found myself saying out loud as a smile covered my face and the needle faded from my view.

As the mountains engulfed my Jetta and Seattle became a piece of my past, I realized that the rearview mirror is there for a reason. It is there to remind you of the things behind you, the things that you pass on the way to where you're going. Just as in driving, in life it is important to look behind you every once in a while to see where you have come from, how far you've gone and how fast you are going. And after I strained to get one final glimpse of the city, I looked forward. I looked forward through the big window in front of me. I looked forward to my future, to a new city, a new adventure, a new chapter of my life. And I realized that though it is important to look back every once in a while, looking forward is what betters us, it is what makes us grow, and it is what shapes our lives.