Leaving Las Vegas

The end of a writer’s conference is sometimes a weirdly haunting, semi-nostalgic thing. That last morning in a hotel, when you’re the only person left who had anything to do with the flurry of activity from the week before, that’s a strange moment. You’re moving through the lobby and seeing about the same number of faces as you did in the days before, but you realize that you have no connection to any of them. You feel like, “Yesterday I was so big… and today I am so small.”

Life is like that, sometimes. Then end of high school felt like that to me, with everyone I’d known for so many years saying goodbye, and some of it being forever. Graduating college. Leaving a job. Moving to a new city. All those people and places that were part of your mental landscape now only exist there for you. And even when you go back, you’re seeing it all through a lens of “used to be.”

There’s a sort of sweet, nostalgic sadness in that. But we should look at it as a reminder—everything is fleeting. Everything changes. Especially us.

Our communities grow and shrink throughout our lives. And we change with them. For each new community, we bring in what we learned from the one before. And as we leave, we take the things that best resonated with us along to the next. That’s how communities grow. That’s how we grow.

My week in Vegas is done. But the memories and experiences I had this week are going home with me. They don’t take up much room. I didn’t even have to check my bag. But when I get on that plane, there will be an entire community sharing my seat.

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