letting go.

We all have a finite capacity for things, whether we’d like to admit that to ourselves internally or not. Grief has allowed me to fully acknowledge the necessity of this truth that the courage to let something wonderful go, often requires extraordinary faith and trust. I am not adverse to the process, but perhaps I’ve grown a little more soft and unwilling to let things go in their time, because I have grown comfortable at the thought of holding just enough space to be.

I was talking to a friend recently on the nature of self-improvement, and how the biggest “tell” of personal growth comes in the community we surround ourselves in. It’s not to say we can’t have people who are with us for the rest of our lives, or people who consistently weave in and out of it, but the simple truth for me is that, the people who once held prominence in my life three years ago, no longer do so today, and for that fact I am grateful. There is a wonder in the thought; “we’ll always have Paris”, and I’ve grown to value the sentimentality of something that “is” into something that “was” (read: I no longer want to hold the necessary patience required to inhabit spaces that I have now outgrown).

In the process of letting go, I’ve learnt to hold immense gratitude for every shared encounter, as if it were my last. A space of great beauty and wonder that drew an excitement into the core of the very best of me. As sailboats in a harbour that meet only once in a lifetime, I have learnt to acknowledge the fluidity of my spaces; to listen and find collective rest in the whispers that remind me of the roads that were never meant to last forever. To trust and know that love (and not loyalty) leads my way through to internal peace, and that while we will never have Paris forever, Paris will forever live on in me.