It’s happening. When I actually thought it might slip past me.
It’s like I can see myself grasping at the wind, trying so hard to contain it, desperately panicking to hold on to what felt like me, to what felt like home.
it’s not the fear of losing them
that scares us,
it’s that we have given them
so many of our pieces
that we fear losing ourselves
when they are gone.
In my meager attempts to find something I can actually grasp; in my efforts to feel some type of control, I’ve surrounded myself with all the projects I’d left undone. All the projects that sat patiently awaiting my attention. And here they are, keeping me from unraveling, obligated to the destiny that is in their stars: acceptance of my gratitude for their role in my life and my release of ownership. To another home. To another place.
Let go. Let go. Breathe. Let go.
Is it really them that I release? Or am I just trying to create some sort of momentum? Break some sort of identification?
I catch myself: Does this actually bring me joy?
But he did. He brought me joy.
Alas, gratitude and release.
(but still a little bit of this.)