The Art of Letting Go

I wish I could say that I have been stuck on this truth since May, when I watched two of some of the most-influential people in my life, walk out. However, that would be a lie. The truth is this: I have written and edited four versions of this entry over the course of the past year. And the sadder truth is this: I had gone as far as publishing one, the third version, only to delete it minutes later. Thus, what you are reading here is the fifth draft of my manifesto, circa October 2019…

It all started a year ago, during this very month, when I lost a lot things, like family, friends, twenty-five pounds and love. A year ago, during this very month, I lost a lot of things, but I found me. In the following twelve months I would continue to loose more, like my car, my house, money, sleep, more friends, more family and even my dog. And each loss was countered by a greater sense of identity.

Sure, this year is the least I have traveled, in terms of airline miles, but that is not to be confused with the fact that: this year is the most I have traveled within myself than I have ever in any three-hundred-sixty-five days. Sure, I have not left the country, but I did leave home and everything and everyone I have ever known to move 1,657 miles and a timezone away all by myself. Sure, my feet did not touch the surfaces of new beaches or cobblestone-streets, but my hands did touch the warm, pale skin of my twin flame… Since last October I have met versions of myself I never knew were possible and said goodbye to versions of myself I had thought would never let me go.

Moreover, I think that has been the hardest lesson to learn and the headliner of my life this past year: letting go. It is not only the act of letting go though, that is valuable, because anyone can simply let go, but the distinction lies in learning to let go of things with nothing but love. Letting go, in this way, means governing oneself with self-control, patience, gracefulness, strategy and wisdom–traits not so easily acquired. It took the tribulations that transpired in my life not only this past year, but especially this past year, to learn the fundamentals of that teaching…

***

And suddenly, I am in a small, white room that is covered in a thin layer of dog hair and that has way too many mirrors, fans and white fluffy fabrics. I am in a fully-lit room in the middle of the night, with my fingers scurring across the keyboard like the leaves against my window, which are holding on for dear-life to thin-limbed trees in the cold outdoor wind. I am in my room. I am in New York City. I live in New York City now. And for the first time, in a very, very long time I do not feel the urge to ask the most tragic question in the human language: why?

I know why. We all know why.

“I am not afraid. I was born to do this.” -Joan of Arc

Listen to this coming season of life, may it be the season of summer in your life, or your umpteenth winter–just listen. Follow the call. And don’t ask why. You know why. We all know why. Let go, with love, and listen.

Let’s commence.

xoxo,

J

P.S. This blog will no longer be exclusively travel, in the literal sense, rather this blog will be a place where my writing journey is shared.