I felt pressure in the center of my chest. My body spoke intently what my mind was thinking. This hurts a little.
We’d planted seeds a week or two before. I am filled with the excitement of a second grader when their little green heads start to poke up out of the darkness. But seeds clumped closely together meant too much competition for water and nutrients, and they’d begun to grow pale and leggy.
For the parsley and peppers to thrive, letting go of many of them was necessary. My heart ached as I gently pulled their delicate white roots from the little pots as tenderly as I would take a sliver out of my toddler’s bare foot.
Even when it no longer serves me to hold on, I struggle with letting go.
If something holds potential, I hold on. Books fill every room of my home. They hold the potential of my enjoying Willa Cather’s My Antonia anew or the possibility of making Ikirian Longevity Stew. I still have a list of 75 ideas for a 2017 writing project. It once took three different therapists to help me let go of a husband.
I long to let nature teach me her wisdom. How I only have a finite amount of time and energy. I can read or write only so many books in this lifetime, and holding on to more than I can bring to potential means none will come to bear fruit.
Things are lighter in spring. I’d be well-served to follow nature’s advice and curate my bookshelves and purge one of my multiple closets. For now, I’ll practice pulling more little green things and see their future possibility as part of the compost. If I feel a twinge of discomfort in my heart, I’ll remind myself that the harvest of basil for pesto and tomatoes for bruschetta means fulfilling the potential of one of those cookbooks in my collection.
And that won’t hurt at all.
Do you ever hold on to more than you have the energy to enjoy?
What gets in your way of releasing what no longer serves you?
Is there anything in your life that it’s time to let go of?
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