I am so ready to let go.
I grit my teeth to embrace gratitude for what I thought belonged to others, but is my own. I have uncontrollably, stalwartly, repeatedly, angrily, knowingly stepped backward into what I want to release. One more time.
My own imperfection. Challenges. Fears. Longings. Actions. Choices. My own love that was not enough, because I gave it from my gut rather than its source.
This year is about to end, but I am leaping forward into another ending. A sweater and a cup of chamomile tea. At the end of the first month of the new year, I will wear an enveloping sweater one last time, over a cup of circled firsts. Then I will let the pilling, green warmth go.
I read somewhere recently that if something is resolved, it feels almost like it didn’t happen. I understand that, but also hear the sharp intake of air from outside myself in putting these words down. How could I? Well. I swirled in (joyful) discontent for a year with a dying man. It was imperfection at its finest, and the moments were about as real as they could be. Why would I drag that glory forward? Every lesson it holds for me is going to pop up when I need it.
So we are going to have tea, that sweater and me. Celebrate firsts and circles and release. Chase the swirls of steam with my raised cup and toast peace.
And then I am going to pick up judgement and carry it all the way through 2018, just as my own. Here is my resolution, for what falls in front of me rather than behind. For every feeling, may there be a wetsuit that allows the dive to be a deep one. For every action, let it be ok when no footsteps echo alongside my own. For every choice, may it reflect no more than who I am in that moment, so that it remains clear afterward rather than cracks open down the line. For every love, may it be simply given. Like standing silently near pain. Like holding a cup of rage. Like crawling out from an embrace that is no more.
It does feel like it never happened. Because that soldier and me, we did the work of our shared lives. There is nothing left for me to carry, and everything to be handed. I have the discontent of each moment to understand, and the wisdom of peace to see it through.
I regret nothing. Let’s go, shall we?