In a coincidence that lends credence to the belief that we’re all just characters in a rough draft of the Flying Spaghetti Monster’s screenplay, we received an essay about leaving New Jersey just as Monica and I were, in fact, leaving New Jersey. And, as happy as we are to be off to the sun and uncongested highways of New Mexico, we can’t help but feel a little sad about leaving the Garden State.

Jersey, I love you, but I’m not in love with you, not anymore. I’m too comfortable within your borders, and I have to face the unknown that you made attractive. From the moment we met you’ve been my home. I’m a product of your experience, I thank you for that. Like a guy in an old leather jacket with a bad reputation and a heart of gold, you’ve shown me that you’re more than fake tans, big hair, and oil refineries. You’re so much more than that, from your mountains and beaches to your farm lands and ghettos. You’re beautiful and gritty, elegant and raw. I wish you’d never change.

“To Your Memory: New Jersey,” by Rebecca Camarda, is a love letter to Jersey that sums up our feelings almost precisely. Apparently we’re not the only ones looking past the end of the Parkway.

New Jersey, I love you for so many reasons. And most of all I love you because I know you understand that I need to leave you. … Our twenty one years together have been fantastic, provocative, even awe-inspiring, but if there’s anything your messiah has taught me, it’s that tramps like us, baby we were born to run.

So long, Jersey.