On Letting Go and Stars

I have been home for almost a week now.  I am adjusting to the newness of life.  I can already see that the learning curve is going to be very steep and that is exactly what I love.

The feelings that I did my best to leave behind were here to greet me when I returned.  The warmness of their welcome was comforting and disconcerting all at once.  I have questioned why I must feel this way so many times and have wished for the feelings to leave just as many times.

And yet, the feelings have not gone.  But they have changed.

Letting go is a subtle and fragile process.  It is never easy.  But for me it is absolutely critical.  I need to trust my future to someone greater than myself.  I need to trust that a future which I have no control over will be greater than the wonderful moments of the past that I have desperately tried to hang on to.

I crave the order of systems in my external world.  I craft my life into a series of deadlines and schedules and to-do lists.  External order allows my internal INFJ world to function as it should: on pure intuition and spontaneity.

But I must let go.  I am but a vessel in this world.  My life is not my own.

So maybe that is why no matter how many times I try to run away I have been consistently brought back home.

Quo vadis?

About a week ago I was driving late at night and was lucky enough to be a witness to the clearest, starriest sky I have ever seen. It was a picturesque kind of moment--one that you never want to forget and hope that somebody else was fortunate enough to see too. I am not sure what it is about star gazing that I love so much. But when I see the stars I feel a little less alone. And I feel like there is hope (even for sometimes lonely-hearted wandering girls like me). And I need that.

Other small things this week that I realized make me happy:

-being barefoot and getting my feet dirty
-fresh pieces of paper
-boy t-shirts and baseball caps
-how free and surfer-like my hair looks when I don't comb it
-how I can read by moonlight in my room late at night

Never forget to take great delight in the small things,

E