Goodbye.

I am in the beautiful virgin atlantic airport lounge at Heathrow, possibly for the last time in my life. But maybe not. This time a week ago, I was learning to scuba dive in Zanzibar while trying to shake off the fever and the full moon party. This time yesterday, I was looking for Grenson or Tricker's brogues with one eye on the Nottinghill Carnival. Now I'm leaving it all.

As I've mentioned, leaving everywhere else - Philly, Tokyo, Sendai, Chicago - I had complex and strong emotions. I cried every time. But this time, I'm almost unemotional. Seeing Ying, Rich, and the gang last night brought some sadness to the surface, but over all - this just feels like another flight to another place on another day of my life. And it's either because that's what London is to me, or that's what moving has become to me.

I'm sure at some point the sadness will hit me. And I'm also sure the memories of this time in my life will stick out as uniquely special in the grand scheme of my life, if not for it's consistent excellence at least for its unique and specific character.

London, I didn't always love you, but I will miss you. Thanks for the memories.

I just spilled a pesto chicken lasagna on my foot.