Hello. I’m Tavi. Shell on my back, history in my heart, and a lifetime spent under familiar trees. I knew I had to go. The water had dried. The food had thinned.
But even when you know it’s time, leaving still breaks something soft inside you.

So I didn’t rush. I said goodbye like a turtle does: slowly, gently, one glance at a time.

Here are the three quiet truths I learned while leaving what I loved.

1. Leaving Doesn’t Have to Be Abrupt

I thought departures meant slamming doors or final hugs. But I left in inches. One visit here. One last nap in that patch of sun. Sometimes the kindest way to say goodbye
is with time, not drama. Goodbyes aren’t always single moments.
Sometimes they’re slow rituals of release.

3. The Slower the Goodbye, the Deeper the Gratitude

Fast goodbyes numb the ache. Slow ones let you feel it all, the joy, the grief, the love in between.

I cried at the roots. I smiled at the sky. And when I finally turned my back, I didn’t flinch. Because I had honoured what once held me. And that made space for what’s next.

Final Thought from Tavi

You don’t have to rush your farewells. You don’t have to leave with clean lines or no emotion.

Take your time. Touch what touched you. Let parting be a process, not a performance. Because leaving slowly… is just another way of loving deeply.