the problem with starting over is…well starting over. it is the blank space where there used to be words or pictures or love. it’s the arduous process of taking first steps, forming first syllables, and liking someone enough to provide directions on how to get a little closer to my interiors.

quite frankly…i’m a little exhausted by the entire exercise. one of the advantages of my typical two year plans is that there is only so much you can do in that stretch of time…and if a new homey space isn’t forged from a host of strangers and strangeness, there is always the opportunity to do it someplace else.

only now i’m in that someplace else and don’t expect that i’ll be jumping ship in the next two years so…what does that mean?

mostly it means trying to stop comparing it to the familiarity of homes and love i’ve possessed …i’ve lost – like a warm spot in bed on a cold morning…hard to let go of – lingering in memory. never mind a potential for newness…

people often mistake grabbing onto something new as being synonymous with letting go of something old. the notion being that you can’t grasp something else if your hand is tightly clenched. but as sound as the logic seems…it isn’t. reaching for something new can feel like letting go…like moving on…but really…really letting go is something else altogether and i’m not sure i’ve quite figured that out yet.

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