I hate saying goodbye.  I mean, I’ve learned to be really good at it, almost to the point where I shut off my emotions and just say a warm, but heart-guarded adieu, but last week I had the opportunity to watch my brother pull off in his moving van as he headed two states east and by most measures, I didn’t handle it well…

My brother is 5 and half years younger than me.  I grew up in the 70’s and early 80’s; his childhood was spent in the late 80’s and early 90’s.  When I left home to go to college, he was just barely entering middle school.

We always got along well, but we were different.  He is tall, I’m short.  He has long hair and a beard, I have neither.  He is a musician, I was an athlete.  I left home to move away for college, he stayed near home after high school.

I can’t speak entirely for him, but I think we always carried a mutual appreciation and admiration for each other.  I know at least I did for him.  I always appreciated how comfortable he was in his own skin; during my sophomore year in college, he came down and stayed with me for a weekend.  I learned so much about myself by watching him during his visit that I was honestly forever changed.  I watched his ability to be himself without seeming to be governed by the opinions of others, and contrasted that with my own fears of fitting in and how that put a ceiling on me being myself.  I watched him and decided his was the better path and it has helped make me who I am today.

On the surface, we have taken quite divergent life paths, but they collided when I wanted to start Wild Goose Coffee Roasters.  It was 2008 and I had this crazy idea of starting a business that existed primarily to serve others.  My brother had worked for many years in a coffeehouse, so I wanted to pick his brain on all things coffee.

Instead of picking his brain, I got him.  He jumped on board with alacrity, and we soon started conspiring together on how we could build this coffee business into something special.

I think we would both agree that I was the driven one, but he was the one asking the hard questions that always yielded the better results.  And his work ethic and ability to compose excellence behind the roaster was amazing, and the results have spoken for themselves.

We’re brothers, and we were business partners, so of course we had our moments of friction.  But the cool thing is, we were able to work them out in a way that allowed for us to embrace our differences, while working symbiotically toward the same goal.  That doesn’t mean that the friction wasn’t there; in fact, I’m certain there were multiple occasions where I drove him absolutely crazy.  That’s what happens when you have two very different people—sometimes you struggle to “get” the other person.  But we found a way to make it work, primarily because I think we both focused on the brotherly relationship first and foremost, and the business relationship secondarily.

Not only am I the person I am because of my brother’s influence, the business is where it is today because of his countless hours of dedication.  Without his handling the production end with predictable excellence, I would never have been able to keep teaching for as long as I did, allowing us to reinvest income from the business into growth. 

During his tenure at Wild Goose, I kept reiterating that he should never feel stuck, that he should never feel an obligation to me or to the business that would prevent him from exploring his passions, should they shift from coffee to something else.  I wrestled with the possibility that his passions might someday shift, and regularly carried with me the fear and anxiety over what that might mean for the business.

In spite of those fears and that internal tension, I’m proud to say that what won out was our relationship as brothers more than about our relationship as business partners.  If he ever felt like he needed a change of scenery, I never wanted to be the barrier to him exploring new horizons.  After all, he helped lift the ceiling on my personality all those years ago, and it was important to me to reciprocate, even at the potential personal expense of embracing the uncertain.

I had a hunch the day would come where I would say farewell to him.  In fact, he was kind enough to let me know months in advance that he and his lady would be relocating to New Mexico from Southern California. 

We were able to prepare for his transition well before the move became public.  I could tell his heart had moved before he physically did, and I admire his ability to maintain excellence in his work even as I could see the internal tugging to go in a different direction.

And even though we both knew the day was coming for months, when we said that last goodbye, my heart let loose. 

Instead of my typical self-protection, my heart opened up a reservoir of tears, and I held him, bawling my eyes out as we hugged our last goodbye until the holidays.

I was still sobbing as I watched the van pull away, and had to excuse myself at the dinner table a few minutes later to go and have another good cry.

I wept because I’m going to miss the heck out of him.  I wept because I’m genuinely happy for his new adventure—I think it’s going to be absolutely perfect for him, and I can’t wait to hear the stories of how this new chapter in his life will be scripted.

I wept tears of gratitude for all he gave to Wild Goose.  I shed tears of grief because I’m going to miss the crazy banter we used to do, regularly bringing the both of us much joy and laughter.

I’m even growing heavy-hearted as I write this, because emotions are emotions whether you’re speaking, writing, or just remembering.

I cried because I love my brother, differences and all.  I cried because of all that he’s taught me; I cried because we’re close, and yet he’s going to be so far away.

I guess that’s what relationship does for us; when things change, there are holes.  And those holes can hurt sometimes.

And part of my self-preservation, part of my personal independence, is to limit how much I let people in for fear that those inevitable holes will be too large for me to handle once they’re exposed.  Throughout my life I’ve learned how to guard my heart from getting too attached to people, the subconscious rationale being to limit the amount of hurt and pain.  However, in this situation I learned that I let loose—that I willingly left myself vulnerable and open to a deeper relationship with another human being, in spite of the fear of the “what if”.

And I do feel a loss—a tremendous one, but I think the pain is merely evidence of a real and honest relationship.  And I’m starting to think that, in spite of the potential holes, real and honest relationships are worth every second of risk.

This real and honest relationship has helped my heart experience life in 3D, with all of its highs and all of its lows.

And I suppose that is the cost and benefit of love, of relationship.

And I wouldn’t trade it in for the world…