Happy Anniversary, Ithaca!

One year ago today, I left Baltimore, Charm City, Bawlmer for "10 square miles surrounded by reality" -- Ithaca, NY. Who knew what I was in for, I just knew that I needed to leave. It was more about leaving Baltimore than coming to NY. Leaving a bad job. Leaving a bad relationship. No, I take that back. Not a bad relationship, a relationship that was bad for me.

BB was charming and sweet, with an ego to match his former professional football days. He was sexy as hell, and made me feel like a princess whenever we were together. Unfortunately, we were only ever together for the sex. Good sex -- okay, great sex! But he was Mr. Right Now, not Mr. Right. When I told him that I was thinking of moving back to NY, he was 100% supportive, as I totally expected him to be. But there was a little part of me hoping that he would ask me to stay, to tell me he couldn't live without me.

He was 52, with two marriages under his belt and kids in the mid-to-late 20s. He would never give me what I really wanted -- we both knew that -- but he was there, and he made me happy enough. We never even really said good-bye. We were supposed to meet for lunch the day before I left -- but he never returned my call that day.

As I was driving north on route 81, in Pennsylvania, my cell phone rang. BB cell. I remember looking at the phone, and can vividly remember where I was at that moment, and what I saw: the green trees, and the open road. I held the phone in my hand, wondering what I should do. I had already left Maryland, left that life behind. What could we possibly say to each other? I was hurt that he hadn't called me the day before. By not answering him, would that punish him? Probably not. But I knew that by answering, by prolonging my connection with him, by not letting the break be clean, I would be punishing myself.

I sent him a card when I got here and was settled. I told him that he meant more to me than he would ever know. It was the truth. I hadn't fallen in love with him, I had fallen in love with the idea of him.

A year later, I think about him sometimes, but always with fond thoughts. Our break was clean, not messy. And now I realize that not saying good-bye properly just means that there was no tearful good-bye, no moment of weakness for me to say something stupid, no moment for me to be disappointed that he didn't say something stupid.

Sometimes no good-bye is the best good-bye.