Sometimes you just have to let go and see what happens
-the Law of Attraction
I need to walk more. I have always found walking clears my head of nagging ghosts. Running used to do it, and training for marathons was the best – the longer the run, the better. But I cannot run anymore – I now have fused discs in my neck and a herniated disc in my lower back, mostly from bad genes. It has forced me to give up some of my favorite activities: horseback riding, mountain biking, running. But walking is still there and is something I want to add to my repertoire. I lift weights for my core, but that has been it for the last decade.
Numerous great writers walked. When you walk you get outside yourself. You let go, and focus on what it around you, whether that be nature or other humans. I let go of me, the very selfish me-me-me, and just observe. As Hemingway stated so eloquently in “A Movable Feast”:
I would walk along the quais when I had finished work or when I was trying to think something out. It was easier to think if I was walking and doing something or seeing people doing something they understood.
Sometimes when I return to my writing area I describe what I have seen on these walks. I imagine the lives of the people I have wandered by or the trails I have ventured down. Mostly, what I find is that I can sit again, get lost in the flow of my writing and just see where it takes me.
This blog is becoming more eclectic than when I first began composing it. At first I thought it would be a space where I could work through the demons of losing my husband – the grief that has shadowed my life because I have not been able to let it go – to let him go. But as the title of this post suggests: It Hurts To Let Go – But Sometimes It Hurts More To Hold On. So I find myself writing bits and pieces to slowly let the demons out and move on with what my life has become, not the life I had envisioned on that beautiful day when we were married, or the blissful nine years we had together before he died. Because I wonder how much I am hurting myself and others by holding on.
I read this on a post on Facebook this morning: “I had a professor once tell us that no one escapes their emotional response to things. Eventually, we all have to deal with how we feel about stuff, and running from it only makes it worse. Many people end up self-medicating or using other unhealthy methods to avoid feeling these unpleasant feelings, but they never go away. Eventually, we all have to pay the piper, so to speak.”
I have paid the piper over and over again for a decade. I have found self-medicating to be an easy escape. Shopping always gave me a rush as well, until I was forced to declare bankruptcy because I used it as a way to avoid my reality and cloak myself in clothes and shoes that would project the image of perfection that I was desperately holding onto during the first dark years. I became fascinated with an “underworld” that had never been a part of my life – strip clubs and the women who worked there. But that will be another post. It was a journey that lasted for months and I learned so much about different facets of life and the paths that others take.
But I suppose the piper wants more. And that is why I am here, writing my fingers to the bone, in the hopes that I will stop running – and start walking. I will start listening to what nature tells me, what I observe in others, and that eventually get to a place where I will be able to let go, and just see what happens.
I’ve wanted to be a writer for over 25 years, since I decided being an artist was not for me. This has become my new palate. I am attempting to be open, to put what I want out there to the universe, just as I did 48 hours before I met the man I fell in love with and married. I have to find the belief that this can happen, again. I have to find the belief in myself. I do not know if I can do it, but I am going to try. I am going to get the words out, the grief, the loss, the anger. And then maybe, just maybe, I can deal with the craziness in my brain with one less thing fighting for space in there. Perhaps I will be able to live in the present again, to feel that I have value, and to finally stop putting up with all the bullshit I’ve been dealing with for 13 years.
© Sorrow & Kindness