My cynicism began at a young age. Why get too emotionally attached to the kids in my elementary school when I was going to be moving to a new town once my parents finished building their house?

I used the same thought process over and over. Why get too attached to the people in my middle and high school when I’ll just move onto college? With each transition came the assumption that the next transition was the one where I’d let my guard down. It was a perpetual cycle. I’d let people come just far enough to have inside jokes, dinner plans and birthday parties. But close enough that losing them would hurt me? Never. 

I eventually let my walls crack (heaven forbid they fall) and developed a few deep friendships. But every once in a while those cracks will repair themselves and I’ll begin panicking about how vulnerable I have allowed myself to become.

This “vulnerable panic” happened early last week.

Then I received word that Dianne is moving off of Isle au Haut.

Dianne has spent the last 25 years on island full-time and is uprooting to Portland sometime this year. She is taking advantage of a new job opportunity, moving closer to her family and giving up a life of lugging things to and from a boat. Dianne has worked incredibly hard to make it as a single mom out here and everyone on island has a great deal of respect for her. She’s loud, feisty and says what’s on her mind. You always know where you stand with her—she doesn’t play games. She’s not one to blab your secrets around the island.

Dianne is admirable in a myriad of ways. But watching her give the news of her impending move has left the greatest impression on me. I was already feeling vulnerable myself and I wondered how crushed Dianne must feel about leaving so many good friends and the life she’s known for a quarter of a century.

Two staff members from the Bangor Daily News came out to do a story about winter life on Isle au Haut. I was the unofficial tour guide and shuttled them around to their various interviews. When they were talking to Dianne they asked if she was going to miss the people on island. She snorted out, “Yes! Of course! I grew up with them. They’re an extension of my family. But they’ll just have to come visit me in Portland!” 

Her candor proved to me that it is possible to take relationships with you to whatever your next stage of life is. It may be different; you won’t have the ease of seeing each other all the time, but you don’t have to consider yourself cut off from those people. They can still be a part of your life, if that’s what you choose.

Living on Isle au Haut (and watching Dianne as she prepares to move off) has reminded me that life doesn’t begin once I transition again. I’m living it every day. And real relationships have made my life so much richer. Letting these islanders in has allowed me to be shaped into a better person. I wouldn’t be who I am without the wisdom of Kendra, the quick wit of Lisa and the persistent optimism of Nancy.

I can’t say that I’ll lose my tendency to put up walls. But I can say that living out here has helped me recognize my tendencies and work through it when it does happen. In the “real world” it’s relatively easy to go through life without becoming too attached because it’s possible to make it on your own. But out here, on an outer island with only 40 other people, you do need to open yourself up to your neighbors. And the benefit of having these people in my life far outweighs the possible pain that comes with leaving.

It’s a lesson I’ve learned fairly late. But better late than never, right? 

Megan Wibberly is an Island Fellow on Isle au Haut through AmeriCorps and the Island Institute.