To the everyday person, Pensacola may not seem like something to cry about, but for me it brought many tears, both happy and sad. Pensacola was the first time that I lived more than 30 miles away from my parents, and that in itself says a lot. I went to college just a few cities away from my hometown. It was during this time that I met and dated my husband. When he relocated to Pensacola, I followed when I could. I packed everything I owned in a tiny U-Haul that pulled my car behind it. The morning of my departure I sobbed uncontrollably as we drove away from my mother (I was lucky enough that my Dad volunteered to drive me down). Pensacola-sad tears, one. Pensacola-happy tears, zero. The same thing happened when I left my Dad at the airport to fly home.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I was so happy to finally be with
my Darling Dear again, and while I had moved out of my parent’s house five years
before, nothing quite hits you like the knowledge that you can’t just hop in a
car and drive the 35 minute trip, when you need them. I was now more than 3,000
miles away. How’s that for having to put on the big girl pants!
For me, this was huge! I had never planned on moving out of
state. Never! I loved hanging out with my parents so much that, on any given
Friday night, that’s where I could be found, until Monday morning rolled around
(And, yes, we all considered this moved out! I had my own apartment and
everything!) Pensacola was proof that I could be an adult without them, and
while I missed them every day, I knew I could hack it on my own (Sort of! My
Husband was there, too.) As a young woman, entering into the military life,
this was one of the greatest test, second only to distance from my husband
(which we had experienced already as well).
In addition to the “coming of age away from my parents”
thing, Pensacola was also the place that I had my first “grown-up” job. One
month fresh from college and plastered by rumors of brand new graduates failing
to find work, I was selected for a position in Sales and Marketing! This job
entailed the coveted all-expense paid training in good ole’ Tallahassee and many
long hours of hard work every day. If this wasn’t being a grown-up, I’m not
sure what is! I finally had co-workers that were working for families and “real-life”,
rather than just getting by in school, and I loved them! And then, we end up
back at the cup. The cup that I got from a co-worker friend’s birthday party.
My first grown-up, co-worker, real-life event. And now it’s broken.
And in my mind, I know this is a stupid thing to be sad
about, but it was my daily, visual reminder that I’m a big girl, in the real
world, and I can do it!
