I get this…


I get that this is the end of a nine year cycle. I get that this is a process whereby the old is being shed to make way for the new. I get that the universe has its own academics and that there is a method to its madness and that in time—the larger picture will emerge clear and make perfect sense. I get balance… I even get karma. I also get that it is important that I not fight the change, but rather let it roll over me and be patient enough for it to establish itself while I adjust to the new surroundings it is creating for me.

I get all this… I do. I just hope in this process, the universe gets a few things too.
I am slow in adjusting to certain changes. I am sometimes ambivalent about the wisdom of my own responses. I am filled with anomalies- moments of great enthusiasm for forward thinking and movement, all the while embroidering that enthusiasm with great angst. I am understanding of the whys; I am just reticent that the universe feels the need to deconstruct me brick by brick, memory by memory so that it may accomplish this. I understand that to alter one’s path, one must learn to fix their sights on the horizon before them and not to continually dwell on the intersections they have traversed behind them.

Above all…
I understand that in the breaking down of the walls of my life, I am leaving behind building blocks for others to pick up, chisel into new shapes and construct theirs and that this is always a good thing.

I get that when this is all said and done… I will be minus a monthly bill of $115.00 for a storage building that somehow in its 12’x 20’ space contains more than half of my life. I get this…I do. But that doesn’t mean that as you drive away, a tear for each one of them will not grace my cheek.

So yes, my darling daughter… you may have the chairs and the tables that supported you in your youth. You may have the photos and the trinkets that I so carefully chose to display as part of my earlier identity. You may have the dishes and the pots and pans that held a hundred daily dinners and the precious few Thanksgivings where we were all still together around a table that hid its age better than I. You may have the chair that held my mother when she was still young enough to rock you as a grandchild. Or the first real suite of furniture that cost a fortune, but told the world I was finally a real adult. You may sift through my life and try what suits and discard that which does not. All this within the bat of an eye and an even appraisal of what might fit within the margins of a truck. You may have all these things I have carefully polished and dreamt upon to build your new life…

Just don’t forget…
that in them lies a thousand dreams and memories of what it once was to be me.

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