Serially Lost ~ Moving Creates Gaps Not Easily Bridged

In response to Writing 101’s prompt Serially Lost:
Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more.

This doesn’t need to be a depressing exercise; you can write about that time you lost the three-legged race at a picnic. What’s important is

reflecting on this experience and what it meant for you — how it felt, why it happened, and what changed because of it.

Today’s twist: Make today’s post the first in a three-post series.

Our blogs are often made of standalone posts, but using them to take readers on longer journeys is an immersive experience for them — and you. It allows you to think bigger and go deeper into an idea, while using a hook that keeps readers coming back.

“Moving away is an experience in loss, whether it’s your decision to go or not.”
Abigail seemed lost in thoughts for a moment and Lydia didn’t want to interrupt. She had come to ask for some advice and it was rare Abigail gave it freely or without making it an exercise. Usually she’d turn the question back to the person forcing them to figure things out by themselves. It was helpful but infuriating. And today Lydia hoped she could get a straight answer.
“I moved three times, well five really, and the experience was at once amazing and heart breaking.”
Lydia was tempted to comment that she knew and it was the reason for her visit but one never knew with Abigail. She could be moody even temperamental. Still Abigail was the first in her family to move to another country when it wasn’t this common. At 20, she’d left everything she knew behind her to move Europe. She spent two years in Paris to obtain a Master’s degree in Lydia didn’t know what. When she came back, her boyfriend had married someone else and everyone considered her an outsider. She’d left again less than 2 years after for Japan no less where she met her husband.
“I know what they tell you. I’m a despicable lady with a grudge. I didn’t leave because of a grudge. The first time I left, I wanted to see the world. I didn’t want my life to be limited to a small city in Vermont. I loved my life; I had friends and I could have settled, married and lived happily ever after. But it wasn’t enough. And I learned so much during my years in Europe. I studied hard but nothing feels as far as here. I could spend hours at the museum and other countries were so close. I visited Germany – still West at the time, Spain, Italy. I even went to Norway. It was so wonderful. And I was on my own; I had to figure it out. There was no internet or inexpansive calls from one country to another. I spoke with my parents once a month. But we wrote mostly. No attaches.
I made new friends from different nationalities, background. They spoke different languages. They hadn’t – and would never – been veted by my parents or friends. I could go out till whatever time I wanred without having to explain myself. It was such a liberating experience. And it changed me to see the world that way. I couldn’t envision spending my life in such a small town. So when I came back I felt estranged from all my friends who were perfectly happy to have spent a couple of year 100 miles away at university and who couldn’t understand me anymore. Neither could I understand them.”
“But they were your friends.”
“They were. But we’d drifted apart. And I wasn’t satisfied being back.”
“So you moved again.”
“I did.”
Lydia waited expectantly for the rest…

©scolpron2015