My last post reflects the fact that I’ve been able to block out the most harrowing thing I’ll be leaving behind.

OK here goes: I’ll be leaving behind my family and friends.

Egads.

As it turns out, leaving isn’t quite as carefree as it was 13 years ago.

Now that I’ve decided to leave, New York seems alive to me again – its streets filled with character and characters that I’ll miss when I’m gone. I’m more like a tourist now, trying to suck it all in during the few weeks I have left. Like most people, I guess, I’m most engaged with my surroundings when I’m just visiting.

I spend my days organizing the dissolution of my nine-year New York life, deciding what stays (books, bank account) and what goes (bookshelves, bed). I cancel accounts and subscriptions. I notice all the “lasts” – my last order from Fresh Direct, my last rent check. I make coffee in the morning, and wonder who’ll get my coffeemaker. I get dressed, and wonder if I should donate these pants or store them for when – when? – I came back.

In short, I keep freaking myself out. The only thing that calms me down is planning my travels: How long to stay in Moscow? How to hook up with fellow travelers in Mongolia? Where to go in the vastness that is China?

I guess what I’m really saying is, this ain’t as easy as it looks.