When I was a little girl, I had these hand-me-down shoes that I loved. I wore them everywhere. Anywhere, really. I don't think I cared whether they were appropriate for where I was going. If those were the shoes I wanted to wear, then those were the shoes I was wearing. And when they became too small, I still didn't want to let them go. I would squeeze my feet into them and somehow convince myself that they still fit. I imagine an adult looking at me and thinking, Child, these shoes are clearly too small. Please take them off. But I loved them. And I think about those shoes sometimes when I hear us talk about things like seasons, letting go, releasing, creating room, moving on. Usually, when we talk about letting go, there is something wrong with the thing we're letting go of. It has become toxic. It doesn't serve us anymore. It is holding us back. We have outgrown it. We need to make room for something better. And yes, sometimes that is exactly what letting go looks li...
When I was a little girl, I had these hand-me-down shoes that I loved.
I wore them everywhere. Anywhere, really. I don't think I cared whether they were appropriate for where I was going. If those were the shoes I wanted to wear, then those were the shoes I was wearing.
And when they became too small, I still didn't want to let them go.
I would squeeze my feet into them and somehow convince myself that they still fit. I imagine an adult looking at me and thinking, Child, these shoes are clearly too small. Please take them off.
But I loved them.
And I think about those shoes sometimes when I hear us talk about things like seasons, letting go, releasing, creating room, moving on.
Usually, when we talk about letting go, there is something wrong with the thing we're letting go of.
It has become toxic. It doesn't serve us anymore. It is holding us back. We have outgrown it. We need to make room for something better.
And yes, sometimes that is exactly what letting go looks like.
But I don't think that's the only kind of letting go we have to do.
Sometimes you have to let go of things that are perfectly good.
And, honestly, I think that might be the harder kind.
Take exercise, for example. I really like walking. Me and walking have a good thing going. I enjoy it. It clears my head. It gets me outside. If someone told me tomorrow that I needed to spend less time walking and more time lifting weights because my body was changing and needed something different, I imagine I'd have a hard time with that.
Not because walking had suddenly become bad for me.
It would still be something I loved.
It would simply no longer be everything my body needed.
And maybe life is like that in more ways than we want to admit.
There are friendships that aren't bad friendships. There are relationships that are okay. Fine, even. They work. There is no great betrayal, no spectacular falling out, no obvious reason that you can point to and say, This is why I have to leave.
There are jobs that are good jobs.
Homes that are good homes.
Cities that we love.
Routines that have carried us for years.
Dreams that once made perfect sense.
Versions of ourselves that we were actually quite happy being.
And yet, sometimes, we still have to release them.
I think this is the part we don't talk about enough.
Because it is much easier to leave something when we can make it the bad guy.
It's easier to say, That relationship was terrible.
That job was awful.
That place was never really for me.
I had outgrown it anyway.
Sometimes we even do this after the fact. We start looking for everything that was wrong with the thing we loved because it makes letting go feel more justified.
But what if nothing was wrong?
What if it was good?
What if you loved it?
What if it worked?
What if it was exactly what you needed for a particular part of your life?
And what if it simply isn't what you need anymore?
I find that much harder to explain.
Because we have become very comfortable with the idea that growth means leaving behind things that are no longer good for us.
But what happens when growth asks us to leave something good?
I suppose that's where the idea of creating room becomes a little more complicated.
Creating room doesn't always mean clearing out the things that are hurting you. Sometimes it means accepting that you cannot keep everything, even if you like everything.
And that feels terribly unfair.
Because sometimes I want to say, But why can't I have both?
Why can't I keep the shoes?
Why can't I keep walking?
Why can't I keep this friendship exactly as it is?
Why can't I stay here?
Why can't I remain this version of myself?
Maybe because we are not actually meant to carry every good thing with us forever.
Though it is hard to admit, we most definitely cannot carry every good thing with us forever. Even perfectly good things.
Some things can be good and still come to an end.
Some things can be loved and still need to be released.
Some things can have worked beautifully and still stop working for the person we are becoming.
And perhaps letting go doesn't always mean that we have decided something was wrong.
Sometimes it simply means we are acknowledging that something has changed.
The shoes didn't become bad shoes.
My feet grew.
And maybe that's all there is to some of the things we eventually have to put down.
Not failure.
Not regret.
Not even necessarily disappointment.
Just growth.
And the strange, sometimes painful truth that growing doesn't only mean making room for something new.
Sometimes it means making room by releasing something we still love.
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