Pick up the pieces and move on.

It always feels something to let go and create space. It always feels good afterwards but during the process there is a tendency to feel like someone or something has taken a large chunk of heart and perhaps a bit of lung out of your chest, graphic I know. I tend to feel quite hollow, short of breath even, like I've just had a good cry. Isn't that why we cry though? To let go, release something that's been building.  It hurts. It hurts to cut lose something you hold onto so tightly. In the end sometimes we let go because we are truly over it, other times we let go because we finally convince ourselves it is the right thing to do. Often, for those of us that sometimes hold on too tightly to ideas, places, people, we let go simply because it is to exhausting to keep holding on.

I woke up with that empty feeling in my chest this morning. Felt like I had been crying but couldn't place why. I thought it might be heartache from homesickness. Perhaps it was an over reaction to something as trivial as being tired from a late night, could it be some anxiety for the upcoming workload at school? In the end it was the last break from something I should have let go of forever ago. The realization of this is something to be briefly mourned. All I am left with is space. A vacuum for possibility.

I learned a little bit from a day of this strange emptiness. I am usually so resistant to change, to leaving things behind or letting them go because I know it is uncomfortable. The last step is supposed to hurt, to feel not-right because it is our nature to hoard, to want to cling to our past and present. To get past this it is all for us to create. Just space.