Letting Go

I woke with a Tum fused to my face and a flutter of anxiety about the day. How am I to welcome this new year when I’m (literally) glued to the old? That’s the thing about fresh starts. They rarely are.

Some things seem to stick around forever even thought you don’t want them to, like a cigarette craving, the Stanely Steemer jingle, and last night’s pizza box. And some things leave way before you are ready, like summer, Jon Stewart, your father. And then there are those things we desperately need to let go of but can’t. We clench and clutch and fuse ourselves like labels to glass. Or like a wet Tum to a cheek, apparently (sidebar: I have no idea how that happened and does anyone know if “Tum” is the singular of “Tums”?).

I’ve been letting go for some time now, leaving behind more and more, and having less and less, and of course, finding the space to become. From the outside, the trajectory may seem dramatically downward. I once had houses with nannies, and executive titles, and antiques by the seashore. I had attics full, and closets full, and dinner parties full of stemware and tiny forks. I had my hair styled, my cars detailed, my house cleaned. I had pedicures.

Today I am considering saving up for a PedEgg. I’ve moved from corporate life to creative strife; from a home by the sea, to an apartment near a pond. And while there are hard times, it turns out I love living more simply.

But In full disclosure, my arrival here has been more of a peeling away than an intentional act of letting go. It was a painful process; in most cases I was letting go one stubborn layer at a time, and I had skilled help to do it. Sure there were moments when massive, dramatic shifts would happen and I’d separate from something like a berg from a floe, but mostly my new life emerged slowly from the shape of the old. It seems I needed something new and solid to hold onto before I could let go entirely. These were the transitions and changes that really stuck. These were the resolutions that lasted.

So maybe new beginnings aren’t just about letting go, but also reaching out. Building a little bridge from what we’ve known to the great unknown. As I scrape the assorted fruit dust from my cheek, I laugh. Maybe I’m being reminded that I am made of both the old and the new; maybe I stand here this morning fused to the moment between the burn, and the heart. Maybe the new year comes bloated with the old; but also, maybe it comes with a bridge.