Sorry for the brevity of that last post! It was hard to find the time to formulate any thoughtful reflections about the year while buried in the stress of packing, moving, and saying goodbye to everyone. But I have returned to my northern homeland, finally got around to unpacking the car, and life is beginning to settle again - even if only slightly.

First of all, just in case anyone was suspecting that my departure from Spartanburg was joyous - think again. In the time between giving Nicholas my last hug and pulling out of the parking lot, I began crying so hard that I managed to get lost on the way to I-26. I probably drove around for a good 15 minutes, sobbing and snotting and getting glared at because of the overfilled state of my backseat, before I gathered my wits and realized I was somewhere over by Asheville Hwy. It was certainly a sight to behold.

Anyhow, it is hard for me to sum up the ways in which I have changed over the course of the past eleven months - I’m not sure I have enough distance to offer that kind of perspective just yet. But what I can say, without hesitation, is that I am so grateful for this opportunity, for the experience of living in the American South, for the writing and art I was able to complete during my residency, for the limited ways in which I learned how to better communicate with others, for the relationships I forged with my fellow artists and in the community, for the many triumphs I felt, and perhaps most importantly, for the many failures I experienced and what I learned from them.

Aside from the time I spent on the third floor of 149 S. Daniel Morgan Ave., it seems like the only other place in Spartanburg where I spent a concentrated amount of time was on the streets and sidewalks of Converse Heights. Since last June I spent countless hours jogging the blocks of that neighborhood, always by myself, usually on the same route, and usually at dusk. Not having grown up in a neighborhood, I quickly grew to love how my runs along Connecticut and Glendalyn seemed to somehow place me on the periphery of the lives of strangers. From the scents and odors that wafted by me, I learned to predict who would likely be drying laundry, who would be cooking dinner, which houses would miss garbage day, and which houses would always possess an omnipresent must. I memorized the placement of lawn ornaments, the names of dogs and the times they would likely be tied outside. And sometimes, through an open curtain, or amidst the backlit scenery of blinds left ajar, I was allowed to glance every so briefly into those homes, and the lives of their occupants.

Experiencing the life of this neighborhood on a daily basis was perhaps the most subtle feeling of community I could have ever imagined gleaning from my time in Spartanburg, but for whatever reason, it often afforded me tremendous reassurance during some of my most troubled times. So thank you, Spartanburg, for offering me your community, however quickly I may have come and gone.

To everyone I had the pleasure of meeting - and especially those who I had the opportunity to know more personally - Thank you. Thank you so much for making my experience in Spartanburg what it was. I only hope that my contribution to you in some way equaled the many gifts I am so lucky to have been given during the time I spent with you.

Derya, Nicholas, Arielle & Brian: I love you so much. I know I played it off as a joke at the time, but if you ever need a bone marrow donor, the offer still stands.

So long, Spartanburg. I’ll be seeing you.