The Trouble With Letting Go

I’m a pretty sensitive person and it’s taken me years to build up the callouses life requires.  It’s odd, in some ways I’m really good at letting things roll off my back. Yet, for many things that I know I should not hold on to I clench in my fist and it takes me a while to even realise that in one hand I have a fist straining to keep closed right.

As for the many things I let go of; I let these things slip away creating little shiftable lines like the creases of a sand dune that come and go.  Lately though, I feel like I have been having asking myself to let things go, and another, and another and another…  Looking back, those creases are now becoming deep canyon-like crevices that I’m not sure will so easily fill back up with sand.  

I pride myself on not letting the inconsequentials bother me. I don’t tend to sweat the small stuff. I’m too old for that now. Much much harder is brushing off things that hurt deeply even though you know the stinging sands whipping against your skin is just a consequence of where you stand and that you feel.  It is not the throwing of stones. These are tiny specks of rocks that, on a good day, beneath your feet feel silky and warm, tickle between your toes, and cling to your ankles long after you have left the beach reminding you of your wonderful day as you stand on the porch watching the sun slip into the earth as it sets.

I suppose I just have to have faith that even the deepest crevice will eventually fill back up with as many tiny specks of sand as it needs.  That, and perhaps a walk on the beach soon will be my solution.

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