Holding On and Letting Go

I want to hold onto this moment – the wild weed bush just beyond my fence blowing snowflake-like blossoms and offering just the right contrast to my mid-spring, purple-infused garden.

I know it won’t last. Nature will decide otherwise, turning this glorious spring profusion of fanciful white into a plain and undifferentiated undulation of weeds. Or maybe the extra hand the lawn guy managed to hire will simply deem it “plain old weed” and mow it down. I get the dynamic, but still…

I want to hold onto this unexpected beauty, nature’s orchestration of pure perfection, knowing that I can’t. The best I can do is to honor and cherish this moment, breathe in its glory, say “yes” to this fleeting perfection, and then, let it be.

In all of this watching of nature “in the groove, doing its thing,” I am aware that it is a lot like the holding on of what’s left of my youthful self.

I don’t “fix my face” with consults, injections, and treatments in an attempt to stave off the inevitable impact of time. I clean it, exfoliate, drink a lot of water, turn my eye into that of a curious observer and… accept the result.

But this is no stoic resignation. There is no sense of defeat. Hell no! As organic nature and human aging do their thing, I…

  • plant more flowers
  • wear the funky, cool earrings on a regular Tuesday
  • light the dinner candles on a ho-hum Wednesday
  • paint the toenails shrimp red

 

I do these things because now I get, get, get what it means to parse out what I can control and what I can’t. I am getting old. Older. Depends on the day. A gift, a blessing; some say the curse of time.

You choose.

As for me, I’ll work with it. My inner knowing whispers: “Do what you need to do, my love, to accept the natural, organic process of change that accompanies the gift of time, but never, ever stop being you.”

 I listen. I…

  • plant more flowers
  • wear the funky, cool earrings on a regular Tuesday
  • light the dinner candles on a ho-hum Wednesday
  • paint the toenails shrimp red

 

And I walk back out onto my veranda. The snowflake-like blossoms are gone now. I smile in gratitude for their fleeting beauty, and my own ability to let go, then

I turn on some music.

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