Saying goodbye

Departure, the first part of archetypal journeys

Hello, this is Priya Iyer. Welcome to Ten Thousand Journeys, where I explore the themes and stages of archetypal journeys through personal essays, poems, and books. If you’re reading this in an email, I hope you’ll also visit the website to take part in the community conversation and to dip into the archives. Thanks!

I write fiction at my other Substack, Once Upon A New Moon, and this past week, I started serializing my first novel there. If you are interested in novels about coming of age in midlife, you can subscribe to it here.

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Dear Reader,

I want to share an experience I had a few days ago. I was in the kitchen early in the morning. It was dark outside, darker because of daylight savings time. Strangely, I was awake earlier rather than later. I turned on the kitchen light, and instead of setting the pot for morning chai, I went to the window overlooking the backyard. I saw my reflection in the glass, part of my face, and the outline of my body. And this is where things get stranger. It was still and quiet both inside the house and outside. Looking at my reflection, I imagined myself opening my mouth wide as though yawning, a great big yawn. A crowd of small birds flew out of my mouth, their black bodies made invisible by the dark morning. I caught the occasional gleam of their hungry eyes and the sheen of their wings. They hovered in place like hummingbirds, watchful and silent. And then, they flew away. 

Of course, I imagined this, but it felt profound. That part of the early morning felt like a liminal time when such an event was possible or expected. If a flock of birds residing in your chest cavity, or more likely, the pit of your stomach, is going to leave, this was the time they would do it. And, of course, they would linger in the air in case you changed your mind. 

This imagined incident felt especially meaningful because I’d been thinking about my stories, the ones I held onto from long ago. I had reflected on them, ruminated endlessly, and talked about them at almost every opportunity. I knew I didn't want them anymore. But, until this moment, I couldn't let them go either. After all, each bird was a story, and what is a writer without her favorite stories? 

When we separate from old stories and older versions of ourselves, we depart from that familiar world and enter a newer one. Departure is the first part of archetypal journeys. The separation may be instantaneous, or it might be staggered over many stages. We may consciously make a choice to leave something behind, and the common example I can think of is when we decide to change a habit. And there are those times when we realize we have changed, without knowing how or when it happened, our old stories and limiting beliefs falling unnoticed like a shroud slipping off our shoulders.

Back in the kitchen, I turned back from the window. As I brewed my chai, I felt lighter, as though I had previously harbored birds within my body and now was emptied.

I wondered if I would need to do it again the next morning. I wondered how the birds got in without my noticing.

Reader, I would love to know what you think and how you’ve experienced departure.

Best,

Priya

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