Letting things go is for the person letting go. To let go of something loved is to love it less - to love it less than something else - and it feels like a betrayal. Letting go isn't selfish, but it is for the self. Because the thing will be lost either way, letting go is loving myself over it. If I hold on, I'll loose both it and myself. Letting go is being whole without the beloved. Letting go is not learning to love the beloved thing, it's learning to love yourself.
This is what I'm learning as I let go of my colorful room, my expansive childhood backyard, my safe place, my home. There are two griefs going on in me right now: one for this home, and one for my family being 12 hours away. I don't want this to happen. I want to move out and have them and this stay RIGHT HERE. I want to come home to this room, this patio, this kitchen smelling of hamburgers and sunshine. But I want what's best for my family, and I know that God's taking them to Ohio, so I'm trying to be OK with that.
Six months ago, I would have said I could never live in town. I love countryside, dewy leaves, huge yards, privacy, inspiring haunts, trees. August 1st, I'll be moving into an apartment. I have to let go of an expectation I set for myself, that I hated living in town. I have to embrace it and make the best of it. And even this feels like a small betrayal.
Who am I without my family? Who am I without my home, yard, haunts? Who am I with an apartment, a house-mate, a ballet business, and a fantastic church? What is the sum of the parts of me without two major players in the game? And the scariest thing to me is this: it's inevitable, and there's no going back. What if I step out on the water and sink?
I'm slowly starting to believe that I won't, that I'll fly, soar, whatever. But that feels like loosing in it's own way. Because how can I say that I'll be happy in a place without my family or without my home? It feels like a betrayal, this letting go.
And that's why I have to do it. I have to let go - not for my family, not for my home, not for my ideals - but for me. I release myself from the principles of who I am to make something new. I am not lost without my family. I am not lost without my home country.
So I suppose it's like betraying myself. I'm telling me that I'm not what I thought I was, or that I'm not anymore. I'm telling myself I'll be OK with part of me amputated, and it feels like nonsense. But then it feels like freedom. And I'm not sure which I want more: the pain or the joy. Because I'm so loyal to my family, my ideals, and myself that it's hard for me to let go of them, even for my own sake.
This is my thought process as I grieve.
This is what I'm learning as I let go of my colorful room, my expansive childhood backyard, my safe place, my home. There are two griefs going on in me right now: one for this home, and one for my family being 12 hours away. I don't want this to happen. I want to move out and have them and this stay RIGHT HERE. I want to come home to this room, this patio, this kitchen smelling of hamburgers and sunshine. But I want what's best for my family, and I know that God's taking them to Ohio, so I'm trying to be OK with that.
Six months ago, I would have said I could never live in town. I love countryside, dewy leaves, huge yards, privacy, inspiring haunts, trees. August 1st, I'll be moving into an apartment. I have to let go of an expectation I set for myself, that I hated living in town. I have to embrace it and make the best of it. And even this feels like a small betrayal.
Who am I without my family? Who am I without my home, yard, haunts? Who am I with an apartment, a house-mate, a ballet business, and a fantastic church? What is the sum of the parts of me without two major players in the game? And the scariest thing to me is this: it's inevitable, and there's no going back. What if I step out on the water and sink?
I'm slowly starting to believe that I won't, that I'll fly, soar, whatever. But that feels like loosing in it's own way. Because how can I say that I'll be happy in a place without my family or without my home? It feels like a betrayal, this letting go.
And that's why I have to do it. I have to let go - not for my family, not for my home, not for my ideals - but for me. I release myself from the principles of who I am to make something new. I am not lost without my family. I am not lost without my home country.
So I suppose it's like betraying myself. I'm telling me that I'm not what I thought I was, or that I'm not anymore. I'm telling myself I'll be OK with part of me amputated, and it feels like nonsense. But then it feels like freedom. And I'm not sure which I want more: the pain or the joy. Because I'm so loyal to my family, my ideals, and myself that it's hard for me to let go of them, even for my own sake.
This is my thought process as I grieve.