Letting Go

People have asked me about this blog -- what it's like to write it, why I'm so sporadic, how much I edit.  I can honestly say the most difficult part of writing this blog is the repackaging of my life in a way that protects my (and my boys') privacy while also maintaining the flavor of what our lives are all about.  It's a fine line.  I cherish my anonymity, my space, the safety of a life unknown.  So it takes time for me -- sometimes a few weeks -- to come up with the right words to express something without revealing too much of me.  I'm sure this is what separates really successful expose bloggers from largely unread bloggers like myself.  But when the right words come that express the events, the feelings, the realizations I let them flow.  I'm writing all the time in my head.  Rewriting all the time.  I'm prone to errors and mistakes.  I make typos.  I redo.  I undo.  I do over.  It's not much, but it's me.


So in that spirit, I offer this.  It's difficult at best to speak about the shifting nature of my foundation right now. But I'll try.

Good-byes are not my strong suit.  I hold on.  I'll admit I oftentimes hold on long after I should have let go.  I'm saying good-bye to a phase of my life, and welcoming in a new chapter.  As the seasons change, so too does life.  So it was not surprising to me that the other day, in my life's travels, out in the middle of nowhere, I happened upon a message from the Universe to remind me that some letting go was in order.  It was no penny.  It looked like this:

Oftentimes I feel unprepared for what life is asking of me.  Quite honestly, it seems like the people around me know something I don't.  Perhaps they've read some sort of manual or life's question answer book.  I particularly feel like this when I realize my kids believe that I know something they don't.  They see me as the leader of this pack, the head of this house.  I act as if.  But inside all I can think is that surely there's someone else more qualified for this position.  They have no idea that I know less every day.  They have no idea I'm as uncertain as they are.  Especially in the good-bye department.


But my find the other day reminded me not only that letting go is part of life and necessary, but also that I have the tools to do it, and do it gracefully.


I said good-bye to all my boys this week.  I cried every day until they left.  The thought of being without them seemed overwhelming and distasteful.  It was something I wouldn't really choose for myself.  But I didn't choose it for me.  I chose it for them.  I tried to plan ahead, fill my days down to the minute so I would be busy and accounted for, stay out of trouble and get things done for a change.  


What's interesting to me is what's happened since they've departed.  It's interesting to look at what I've chosen for myself in the absence of others.  Most notably, silence and solitude.  Every day I think, I'll put a movie on.  Every day, I somehow fail to.  I think about listening to music.  I try.  I turn it off.  I think about tackling the to do list.  I sit in silence instead.  The dishes are still in the sink, the laundry's still not put away, the beds still dressed in questionable linens.  


I've loved running this week.  There is such a difference to my stride when I'm not haunted by what I've left behind or frightened of what I might find on my return.  I've added in biking, just because I have the extra time.  I even tackled this hill again with surprising ease.  What seemed an enemy just a few months back, now appears to be a friend.  Where I was weak, I have grown strong.  Where I have surrendered, I have gained.


Much of running for me is the internal conversation -- debate, really -- between my head, my heart, and my body.  My head believes in quitting before I even start.  My heart is anxious to get started.  My body resists the efforts I put forth.  But running that trail, biking those miles, climbing to the top of my favorite hill -- well, it's a commitment and a surrender all in the same second.  I let go of the voice that tells me I'm no good, I look ridiculous, I can't do it.  I grab on to the silence, to the next step, to the sound and feel of my own breath.  


The good-byes these past few weeks have been life-changing good-byes.  The kind of good-byes that are definitive when you look back on your life.  The ones where you say to yourself, "And that is the day my life went this way instead of that.  Right there.  That day.  That minute."  They're profound good-byes.  Good-byes to abilities, capabilities.  Good-byes to homes away from home and people who've become family to us.  Good-byes to a time and way of life that, for years, has felt steadfast and sure, and is now my history, our history, the past.  


All I know is what the song says, I feel it all.