Letting go

Ok, so this is my monkey, his name is Shweetheart or Monkeyboy, whichever you prefer. And, well, he is probably the most well traveled red monkey around. My mom gave me my monkey when I started flying on November 29, 1999 and he has lived in my suitcase ever since.
Monkeyboy has been all over the world, and I have done my damnedest to photograph him in every city that I have ever slept in. He's been to Augusta, Barcelona, Charleston, Dublin, El Paso, Fort Lauderdale, Hell (Grand Cayman), Istanbul, Jackson Hole, Kalispell, Los Cabos, Milan, Nice, Oklahoma City, Pittsburgh, Qatar, Rome, San Francisco, Tulsa, Venice, Washington DC, Yuma and so many other places that I don't remember. This last weekend he went to Moscow and next weekend he will be in Shannon, Ireland...
But come July 1 he will retire his passport.
I quit my job today. After almost seven years of heartache and tears and laughter and jet-setting and "glamour" and spilt tomato juice and rude passengers and adventures... I quit my job.
It's time to move on, and even though I know this in my heart of hearts and even though this is something I have wanted to do ever since my first day as a flight attendant, I am still sad. I am sad to be leaving a job that gave me the world and I am sad to be leaving a job that gave me access to my far flung family and friends. But it was time, and it was the right thing to do.
Monkeyboy will just have to learn to love New York.