I can’t let go of the stuff and things cluttering my home, demanding my care, accumulated over time, infused with memories and emotions.
It pains me to let go of my jobs, and I’m forced to try only by the tyranny of deadlines. There’ll always be one more bad audio, timing decision, typo. And if I seem to be letting a file go with the deadline, truth is I’m still holding random lines, tunes, chatter even as I walk away.
I can’t let go of a deep, warm embrace.
I can’t let go of my Past People. We worked together, played together, ate together, slept together. We connected, and I can’t let you go. And sometimes I can’t let go of all the stranger-acquaintances either– the beautiful people passing on the sidewalk. Won’t I miss the crossing guard and his kind small talk when I move on? Can’t I be consoled that there’ll likely be another gentle crossing guard, store clerk, next-door neighbor in my future?
I can’t let go of my perceived failures of times past and the shame from them that wells up into my sinuses and chokes my optimism and creativity and confidence.
I struggle to say no to the 11:00 and 3:00 cravings for sweet, sweet ice cream, rich, cheesy pasta, chocolate! Sweet and bright– Oh, velvety chocolate!
I can’t say no to the magazines and newsletters I’ve invited into my mailbox, e-mailbox, Bloglines. I struggle to untick the Keep New boxes in my Bloglines. I can’t not purge my Bulk folder every time the spam is served. I can’t say no to the Check Mail button… over and over and over. Just who do I expect to be showering me with e-mail? After all…
I can’t let go of the e-mail, letters, blogs I compose in my brain. If they even make it to draft form, they languish there, and I struggle to release them, show them their purpose, give them their wings.
And before you get all Who Moved My Cheese? on my rat’s ass, please be assured that I posted this rant, huh, didn’t I? In all its shabby spontaneity, mixed metaphors, misspellings, poorly thought-out ideas… Here. I’ll just let it go, send it on its messy way! I’ll go sleep off the grumpiness now and tomorrow start to pick off the can’ts one at a time.
Actually, Rat, I can get really crabby when someone moves my cheese. This personality has a huge lack of embracing spontaneity. It really gets a crab down when she repeatedly passes up fun in favor of petty projects that no one in the course of world history will give a rat’s ass about in the end. Who cares if I go to the post office tomorrow instead of today? Who cares if I live in a curtainless house for four years? We crabs end up staying at home a lot – dark, cold, rocky caves they tend to be more often than not. I wish we crabs could soften up these hard outer shells a little and feel comfortable being more exposed to the outer world. Those of us that do risk a little of that adventure still seem to feel it necessary to drag heavy baggage around to protect ourselves in our inner crabby world. I get crabby when someone moves my hermit shell; I’m exposed to the whims of the world. Yes, this crab could use some spontaneity. Huge heaps of spontaneity, please!
Beloved Crabs, rejoice!
Those of us without shells who leap with every passing wave, will simply come for you and hold your clenched little hands and take you away with us.
We have done that, little crab, little Eyore, have we not? Have I not whisked you away to Down Under and Down East? Will I not follow through on the whisk away to Over There to follow you and lead you? I will.
We live on opposite ends of the balance and it is our very opposition that keeps the world from tilting.
Bless your crabby insistence on detail and deadlines and numbers. Bless your reliance on cost and risk analysis.
They keep our teeter-totter horizontal when confronted with my Let’s Go to Cairo, Today! spontaneity.
Yin, you are beloved.
Your Yang