There comes a time in every life to let go of something you love. Sometimes it is a relationship. Sometimes it is a hobby. Sometimes it is a toy or possession. The tricky part is really letting go both physically and emotionally. I’ve had to do this many times in my life. Sometimes I’ve even gotten to have the thing I let go back, but there was no guarantee of that at the time I put it down. This letting go is necessary because we all have only so much physical and emotional space in our lives. If we never let anything go, then we lead lives cluttered not just with physical objects, but also with regrets and longings that interfere with daily living.
Howard was a musician when I married him. He graduated with a degree in music composition and his array of musical gear took over half the living room of our small apartment. He loved that gear. I can’t count the number of times he disassembled it and reassembled to create the optimal configurations for whatever project he was pursuing at the time. But then Novell started filling more time and the music business did not succeed in the ways we had hoped. There came a time to let it go and be done. Howard packed up the music gear and put it in storage. We kept the music gear in storage until the day came that Howard was really willing to let it go and not regret having it gone. He still feels the call of music, but each time he does, he consciously decides to not pick it back up. Because he let music go, he has space in his mind and his heart for the stories of Schlock Mercenary. Schlock would not be the success it is if Howard were conflicted, regretful, and still half-chasing music endeavors.
At this time in my life I have put down sewing and gardening. They are both activities I love. I’d spun dreams and aspirations around both of them. I dreamed of having a showplace garden all around my house, a haven of beauty. I dreamed of sewing an amazing couture quality dress that would dazzle everyone. But the truth is that I do not have the time nor energy to pursue these things. I may get some bare minimum yard work done, but I do not have the time to pour over garden magazines, draw up plans, or spend the necessary hours per day outside digging, planting, and weeding. I do not have time to plan clothes, select fabrics, or hand sew fantastic details. Those dreams are still beautiful to me, but I have chosen something else instead. I have chosen the family, and blogging, and publishing work, and writing. The things I have chosen are more important to me than a beautiful dress or a beautiful garden. Those dreams will wait patiently for me and I may have a time to pick them back up later. Or perhaps I won’t. Either way is fine because I did something more important instead.
In January 2007 I put down the writing of fiction. It was the right choice to make, but it was heartbreaking at the time. I fought the knowledge that I needed to do it. But in the end I followed what I knew needed to be done. I quit the writing group I belonged to. I packed away all my story notes. I buried the files on my computer. Even as I put it down, I hoped that it was a writing hiatus rather than the end of writing forever, but I had to let it go completely. In order for me to really focus on other things, I had to behave physically and emotionally as if I was done with writing forever. The most terrifying thing was knowing that this process would change me. The act of not writing would change who I was. I was afraid that after a year, the new person I had grown into would not pick writing back up because she would be different and she would not care about it the way that I did. That possibility was real, and so when I put the writing down, even though I planned it as a hiatus, I had to accept that it might really be forever. I had to rant, and rave, and grieve, and then really let go. Completely let go. Because if I did not let go, then the longing and grief would contaminate the things that I was putting writing down to accomplish.
In my case I stopped writing fiction to focus on learning how to be a working mother and a publisher. I had to figure out how to work with an artist, and a printer, and InDesign. I had to figure out how to make the emotional arcs of parenting and the emotional arcs of business not interfere with each other. And I had to do it all during a time when Howard was traveling constantly. I spent much of that year terrified that I would do something wrong and it would all come crashing down. I could not have survived that tumult if I had also been feeling regret and sadness over my lack of time to write. I could not have handled it all while carrying grief over writing. In hindsight I can see how absolutely correct the decision was. I can see what was made possible by the choice. Then when the emotional chaos had subsided, when I had my feet under me again, I looked around and the writing was waiting for me.
There are times when we must let things go. Sometimes we get them back. Sometimes we do not. But if we truly let them go and are at peace that the decision is the right one, then either result can be happy. I do not regret sewing. I do not regret gardening. Howard does not regret music. I do not regret the writing hiatus. I have always wanted to travel to Europe, and I have not yet because I keep choosing other things that are more important to me. I may never get around to seeing Europe, I do not regret that either. The letting go is hard, but without it we can not be happy where we are.