Thursday, September 18, 2014

saying goodbye; letting go; still loving

im moving again. that's nine times in the last six years. each time there is less to move. this time noticeably a lot less cookbooks. eight banana boxes less. the last time I moved was under a number of realizations (like I had too many cookbooks that I never use and that I was ready to make space for someone to share my space....[side note: thank you to all of those who have helped me move--often more than once--and never commented about the absurd number of books I have, and especially to the one someone who finally did]) and expectations (that that somebody would share my space). Now I am going to be sharing space with a very different somebody,

Somebody A, the somebody for whom a certain banana bread was made, whom adventures and music were shared with, whom stirred laughter and tears, and whom a number of current home shelves were left free for is no longer my somebody. He is my friend though. And he can use my new shelves if he needs to....

Somebody B is my good friend with whom I will be sharing different adventures and music and baked goods with. Somebody who is about to be overwhelmed with the amount of stuff I still have despite having moved so many times. Mostly food. And booze. And still quite a number of books.

This move is quite significant, firstly because I have not lived with anyone since the random moving in with three football players I had never met on the opposite end of this country (a whole other moving story full of somebodys). More significant though, because of that grand bit of expectation attached to the last move.

Moving into this little home of mine now was full of expectation: firstly that moving up a crazy steep hill out of downtown would inspire me to get back on my bicycle (im one of those "hardcore" cyclists who loves a good incline even more than the downslope--and so does my butt...)--which didn't happen--but primarily, to have M (somebody A, in case you haven't caught on yet) feel welcome in my home, to maybe call it his own. Which definitely didn't happen.

Oh expectation. how you set me up to be let myself. If we do not expect anything, then we can not be let down. This does not mean not to have hope, not to put effort into manifestations. even hope falls flat if you do not put in the work. Hope for something can be like setting a goal or seeing the outcome, but you have to be willing to make the steps towards that. For long- term -live- in- sharing- shelves- love, you need to be free of expectation but full of hope and then willing to do the work to make that hope truth.

its a lesson I continue to learn as I pack up all of my stuff and one box of M's and think about whats next. What is next? I have a lot on my plate this fall/winter, including a number of adventures almost as grand as love (who am I kidding? theres nothing so grand!). And a number of challenges not nearly as challenging as love. Including letting go of love.

but then again, as I pack I learn another lesson. That just because you let go doesnt mean you love any less. Actually, I didn't learn that from packing, I learned it from pinterest, but I am thinking about it as I pack. I am thinking also of all the good times we had, the food shared and songs sung. The talks, the laughter, the kisses, the questions, the long nights and early mornings, the good on its own and the good within what didn't feel so good then. Im thinking about how leaving this space is a significant move, a letting go of expectations, a closing of a move that was such an opening statement to my heart, and in leaving an awareness of how much my heart has yet to open. I will miss the memories the floor boards hold here (and the gas burners and my garden, and sliding doors and built in shelving... but that's besides the point...), but look forward too to being free of them. I look forward to letting go.

And being able to still love him. And still loving me.

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