It was a bustling Monday morning at the Shrewsbury Giant, and I just wanted it all to stop. I scanned each customer's items, and maybe even made a friendly comment about the weather, but my mind was far away. It was in another time, specifically about 30 minutes later. It was my very last day.

I knew this day was coming, but somehow I still wasn't ready. Not one to be overly sentimental, I am still not very good at goodbyes. And this was just another hit on a long list of coming farewells that I am nowhere near ready to withstand. In that moment, the Earth seemed to be spinning faster than I was prepared to handle.

But the customers didn't seem to notice the enhanced rotational energy in action. They handed me their coupons and I told them to have a nice day. My managers didn't seem to notice either. When I had finally finished those last few minutes, I told them that I was leaving and that I'd be gone for quite some time. They wished me well and thanked me for my hard work this summer, then returned to their work. I walked out of the double doors and into the parking lot. The store kept on running, just the same without me there. A whole world of mine was ending, and it couldn't even have the decency to slow down in mourning.

But why should it though? Those harsh florescent register stations have seen their fair share of cashiers coming and going, moving on and moving up and then, maybe one day, coming back with groceries of their own to buy. Families of their own to feed. Because that's the way of the world: to use us and abuse us and then, in truly poetic form, to send us back to where we came from, only different this time. Goodbyes may never truly be forever, but that doesn't make them any less painful in the moment. It's only human nature to wish that we weren't so alone in the things that we feel.

Except we are alone sometimes, because sometimes we go on adventures that belong only to us, and we can't expect anyone to truly understand that. Sometimes there's safety in numbers, and in going at a comfortable pace, but comfort isn't always what we need. Every once in a while, we experience moments where we are truly and utterly by ourselves. At these times, the world will not stop to hold our hands, but, dammit, we don't need it to.

As I walked to my car that day, I felt like I was drowning. As I got into my car and turned the keys, I began to realize that this feeling was only temporary. I knew in the back of my mind that it would all be okay, that this too would pass. The trick was, and continues to be, to hold on to that knowledge and believe it as hard as you can, even when it seems impossible. The world won't slow down for you, but there's no reason that you can't hang on tight for the ride. Put your car in drive, and fly away.