The Things We Let Go

Dearest Orion,

Isn’t it strange, the moments that bring us peace rarely look the way we expect.

Today, I felt joy. Pure unexpected joy in the quiet of my house, in the rare stillness of not being needed. The boys are away in Poland, exploring forests and family stories. I miss them, and yet, I don’t miss the weight of holding everything together. Not today.

They sent me a photo: a WWII soldier’s helmet found buried in the woods of a relative’s land. Just lying there like the forest had been keeping it safe all this time. I can’t stop wondering about the man who once wore it. What he feared. What he loved. Whether he survived. That helmet was protection once, a necessity. Now it’s a relic - emptied and left behind. Somehow, it still speaks.

I think we all carry things like that - parts of ourselves we once needed to survive. Roles, habits, even pain. They kept us safe, maybe, but at some point we outgrow them. They become too heavy. They belong to a past self. And when we finally set them down, we start to feel something like freedom.

I feel it now, even in small things. A loose temporary tooth in my mouth has been driving me mad, a tiny reminder of something temporary and out of place. Like an old version of me that doesn’t quite fit anymore. Annoying, persistent, and a signal that change is already underway.

I don’t know who I’m becoming. But I know I’m not who I was.

And maybe that’s the real gift, not having all the answers, but allowing yourself to grow beyond the need to.

In the quiet,

Me