Growing pains.

It was a familiar scene, and a familiar occurrence.

Crying while saying goodbye and getting lost in my thoughts on a flight.

Two things that I think most humans might be prone to doing. But as a writer, particularly when I find myself in the second scenario, this corner of the web is where you’ll likely find me after. 

Four days ago, I flew back to Nashville from Florida. Yes, the way my move worked best was unpacking my stuff in Nashville and then a week later, I was Florida-bound again for our family reunion. 

And I think that’s partially why things unfolded like they did in the airport last weekend.  

I can get through an airport on my own. I pride myself on how well I can scoot through one these days. But for some reason, getting through Orlando security has never been easy. For one reason or another, I almost always end up stressed and usually desperately trying to convince a TSA agent that I can walk through the metal detector without falling and/or setting it off with the metal in my body. Because I swear, sir, it’s all titanium.

I may not look like it, but I swear, I am some odd version of Tony Stark!

Point is, jokes and grievances aside, for whatever reason, MCO is doable, but rarely easy. For that reason, my dad got a non-passenger gate pass to help me through security.  

With only one stressful moment, we got through, and he walked with me to my gate.  

And then, I sobbed. 

In true dad-fashion, he looked at me like I had two heads, and then asked me why I was crying. 

Besides the fact that I’m an emotional girl, Dad, gosh (eyeroll), I told him I didn’t know. But a few minutes later while I was still sobbing into the sub he bought me (0/10 recommend. Soggy bread.) I told him: “I hate leaving.”

And in true Paul-fashion, he said with a slight chuckle: “You should’ve thought of that before you moved to Nashville.”

Naturally, in typical Jordan-fashion, I took a break from sobbing to sock him the shoulder.

The reason I think I was crying so hard, even though I had technically already made the move, is because this flight felt final. This flight felt like things were actually changing.

When I initially touched down in Nashville, with my moving truck waiting for me, I knew in my head I’d be going back to Florida a week later.

 I’d see my parents a week later, I’d see my brother, I’d see most of my family.

Nothing felt truly real in that first week. My focus was unpacking, getting enough work done so I could relax on vacation, and exploring Nash just a little bit.

But in my head, I don’t think it had hit yet.

I don’t think it really hit me until after being delayed almost four hours, I said to another passenger on the plane after we landed, dreaming of my bed and not being in an airport: “Man, I’m glad to be home.”

 The words fell out of my mouth, and I now wonder if the kind stranger saw the way my eyes bugged out of my head after I called Tennessee “home”.

 While, like I said, I’ve only been here barely two weeks, I have told my parents that I feel like I’ve never settled into a place so quickly. It feels like my apartment is the fastest anywhere has ever become home.

 Don’t get me wrong, I have gotten lost about five times now, and I still barely know a soul here.

(But I have already become a regular at one coffeeshop, thank you very much.)

 But as a whole, I’ve felt like I’ve settled in quickly. And I hope with all the hope I have that that feeling sticks around.

 But even so, as I sat on the plane, still sniffling and trying to hide it from the people next to me that I was crying, the main thing I kept thinking was:

 This whole growing up thing is way harder than I ever thought it would be.

 Which, in a sense, is something I feel like I maybe have written about a lot on here. But as a confused twenty-something, who is trying to publish a novel that’s actually (spoiler alert!) largely about being a confused twenty-something, I guess that’s kinda become my “brand”. So, just let me roll with it, okay?

 A new city, being in the thick of figuring out a career, changing friendships, seeing family less, and being on a lot of planes can do a lot to a girl’s thoughts.

 Last year, when I was taking a break from blogging, I wrote a few shorter pieces on my Instagram. And I think one in particular is exactly how I felt, sitting on plane, feeling like I was going to the right place, but also feeling the pain of leaving.

 Here it is:

 THOUGHTS ON BEING IN YOUR twenties

Originally published: February 8, 2022 via Instagram

Someone told me these would be the best.

Another told me these would be the worst.

One more said these were overhyped, too romanticized.

Lots of time, and loaded questions.

Calling one place home but feeling at home in another.

Plenty of mistakes, but still, plenty of fresh starts.

Saying: this is it, but actually wondering if there's more.

Knowing everyone said you were going to be confused but being curious if they meant exactly this confused.

Hearing your own voice echo and being proud of how it stands on its own, while simultaneously praying someone else heard it.

Questioning if one thing matters as much as it used to, if a different thing ever will matter, or if another will ever end.

Opening the door,

just to see who's actually still waiting on the other side.

Our 20s can be some of the best and can be some of the worst.

But what decade will that not be true for?

My guess is none.

I'm telling you this could be the best.

It could be the worst.

It's probably confusing.

And it's maybe a little romanticized.

But who am I kidding?

I'm just as clueless as you are.

Having friends in different pockets of the world.

And when you call, confusion is on the other line with them, too:

What are we doing?

Have you left yet?

Remember when, do you know how to, have you heard?

What's this, and how do handle that?

Does this end?

Are you dealing with it, too?

I want that back, do you think we'll find it?

But who am I kidding?

I'm just as confused as you are.

Lots of time, and loaded questions.

Little making sense.

Lots of I don't knows, but I'm with yous.

Some of the best and the worst, but not completely one or the other.

Trial and error,

going home and finding new ones.

Loaded questions, only a few answers,

but enough confidence we'll be okay.

Thoughts on being in my 20s?

I guess I've got lots of them.

But who am I kidding?

I'm just as happily confused as you are.

----

 This whole thing is harder than ten-year-old me ever thought it would be.

 I think clinging to the “happily confused” part might be my trick.

 Embracing the people who stick through it with me, the new ones I meet along the way, and enjoying the excitement of trying new things. The fresh start that comes after failing or getting lost.

 The growing pains may end, they may not. I’m likely just as clueless as you.

 But the more I go through, the more I’ve learned to actually be thankful for them. Because so far, there’s always been something on the other side.

 And finding anticipation for whatever that “other side” is, has brought me a lot of perspective.

 But, sorry. No, Dad. I don’t think I’ll ever not cry when we say goodbye.

 So, just get used to it, okay?

—

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(Okay. I’m done now.)