Inertia is the idea that matter continues in its current state of motion. Without an outside force, what is still will remain still. What moves will continue moving.
When I buckled my seatbelt on the plane, I peered out at Portland for the last time. I thought : how did I do this? how did I get here? And it was that word that returned to me. Inertia.
I loved my life. My city, my friends, living with my sister, my bus driver, my yoga studio, my apartment in the hippest neighborhood and painted Martha Stewart blue. If there hadn't been some sort of great outside force, I wouldn't have left.
What is still will remain still.
I thought of the line from We Bought a Zoo (which I persuaded my Dad to rent when I was visiting him the weekend before) : "You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it."
He's right about bravery. It doesn't take a lot; it hasn't taken courage the whole time. Really, just twenty seconds when I commited in February. Time passed and the inertia had started. The rest came all on it's own. Then, it only made sense that I would leave my job on this day, and my apartment on another. It didn't feel like a decision. It just felt like the next step. The momentum carried me to it. Even though - when each day came - I didn't feel ready. I wanted to stay.
What is moving will continue moving.
The plane made the wide turn to the straightway - the long stretch for picking up speed. We idled for a second before it started shaking. Faster and faster until the wing flaps pointed upward. The wheels stopped grating on the ground. As we headed for the cloud-cover, the city became smaller. In a rush of white, it was gone.