We want so much to be sure. . . of the right decision, of the correct path, of our relationships and our work and our place in life. I want that certainty so much that it is too often my solitary focus. My vision narrows and it’s as though I see my life through the wrong side of a telescope.
I keep returning to this truth: There are no guarantees.
Sometimes when I feel like I am losing (people, moments, dreams) my impulse is to cling. I clutch so tightly that I choke the life right out of them. The whole time thinking, “Stay. Stay. Stay. Don’t go.” It is in these moments that I remember my father and how I lost him twice- once to the bottle and again to cancer- and how from that experience a pattern was born. And how each time I lose something special to me, I lose it and my dad all over again. While intellectually understanding the correlation, what my brain understands is not often what my heart knows.
My heart makes one decision while my brain makes another.
I’m struggling right now to figure it out. How to move forward. How to let go. How to trust that it’s all going to be okay even when it hurts. How to have faith in myself and the unknown. All I can really do is get up every morning and be grateful that a new day is unfolding- yet unwritten and open with possibility.
And go to therapy.