Destiny

I’ve never been good at letting go. When I was young and someone called out for me, I would respond, “Hold On.” I never knew it would mean literally.

I still have memory boxes from childhood that my mom is convinced are filled with gum wrappers. Okay, in my defense they were really funny bubble gum wrappers (you remember the ones with the joke?) that were a gift and are now like retro…. Nuff said.

Recently at the Salvation Army, while dropping off some awesome things that had been in my trunk far longer than necessary, I stood there, pondering if it was really best to let them go… I mean, of course I need 3 pairs of Uggs. As if needing a healthy shove from an angel in overalls, a guy called out, “When you left your house it felt like a good idea. Don’t turn back. Now just go out and get more stuff.” Tail between my legs, I hugged my Uggs goodbye. #HugsforUggs

I’ve mastered the art of the long goodbye, watching my family until they disappear around the corner, soaking in every last essence of their aura, knowing that someday it will be the last time. Pretty morbid sure but it’s a coping mechanism I’ve adopted, and call me superstitious, I ain’t changing now.

I’ve lost family before, tragically and suddenly. It’s excruciating. Not just in losing the ones we’ve lost, but how it changes those left behind.

That kind of letting go is forced upon us, and can lead to patterns of abandonment, thereby shaping how we see the world whether we are aware of it or not.

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When I was in sixth grade, my teacher asked our class to write a poem. A simple poem. My heart stopped for just a minute…. I didn’t know how to write a poem! I had been writing in a diary (you know the kind that had a little lock and key), since I could hold a pencil, confessing my sorrows to the safety of the page. But I didn’t think I could ever write something that others would want to read… and would be good enough. That was what real writer’s did.

I was an overachiever. And I wasn’t a person who liked to fail at any task, especially in front of my peers when I was so busy seeking their approval.

And so I did the most natural thing to me. I turned my back on myself and asked my very intelligent friends for help. They came from those idyllic families where they had pancakes for breakfast every Sunday. In my eyes, they were perfect. And I was flawed because I was filled with so many thoughts, feelings and worries. A ten year old constantly consumed with the pain inducing fear that I wouldn’t fulfill my destiny… whatever that was supposed to be.

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