East Coast in Progress

I have left my parents and the city of my birth. I won't see them again for a long while.
I have packaged my life into bags and boxes and stored them or put them on my back.
I have jettisoned the parts of my life that seemed unnecessary.
I won't see my dog again for years.
Even if my family comes to visit, they won't bring him.

But so far, nothing. No real tears or disconnects. No overwhelming emotions.
The closest thing is the stomach twirling anticipation and excitement I feel to be engaged in another big adventure. A truly unknown journey.
Which may also be why I don't have much of a sense of loss yet.
The past few weeks, I have made real efforts to apply significance to what I saw or ate, to who I was with or where we were. All such efforts have failed.
It does not seem possible for me to simply decide to make a moment meaningful or memorable. I cannot summon up the emotions that would seem to be appropriate for the last time I see the puppy or my mother or father.
I am not particularly worried about it. It seems more like a strange but not unpleasant smell. I noticed it periodically, but don't really dwell on it or feel there is much to be done about it.
As I approach the cliff edge, I continue to inventory my bag, making sure I have enough magazines for the free fall.
So denial might be a good description of this emotional void.
It will hit me when it needs to. I will be fine.