I believe in letting go. There’s relief, peace of mind, and progress to be found here. Not to mention practicality. It comes easy to me, and always has.
I believe that getting to know ourselves—our preferences, dreams, and needs—and then having the guts to go after them, is a pursuit worthy of our increasingly hard-to-capture attention. Asking what we want for ourselves, and listening intently to the answer. To do this we need to give our minds some space: a space full of energy and time, and free from chatter and distractions. Not to mention being free from the demands of society, from leading a life someone else has told us we want.
There was a heavy snowstorm that night. My mother went to bed and I pretended to sleep, then I snuck out to the garden and stood under the falling snow. I held my hands outstretched, catching snowflakes, watching them vanish on my fingertips. It felt joyous and frustrating and spoke to some truth I couldn’t express; my vocabulary was too limited, my words too loose a net in which to catch it. Somehow grasping at vanishing snowflakes is like grasping at happiness: an act of possession that instantly gives way to nothing. It reminded me that there was a world outside this house: a world of vastness and unimaginable beauty; a world that, for now, remained out of my reach.