I have news: my terrible, no good, very bad sweater finally got too small and ripped in the armpit when I was putting it on last month, so I can finally let it go. Or rather, I could finally let it go if I were the kind of person who lets things go easily. But longtime readers of this newsletter will know that I most certainly am not.
You might recall that I bought the sweater during the first lockdown and hated it pretty much from the start, but that hasn’t stopped me from wearing it regularly for nearly an entire year. And even after it ripped, I spent a not insignificant amount of time wondering if I should try to repair it or maybe fashion it into something else, like a throw cushion. So now it is still sitting on my closet shelf, reminding me daily of my bad choices, when I should just get rid of it like a normal, healthy person would.
But it’s not that easy for me, and I wonder if it’s because this sweater is so closely interwoven (see what I did there?) with my feelings about the past year.
I remember having goals at the beginning of the pandemic, none of which I’ve achieved. I thought I’d get a good start on a manuscript for my second book, or at least put together a book proposal, which seemed quite doable. But after many starts and stops, I’ve done nothing. Well, I’ve done a lot, but none of it is the thing I wanted to do—and this year has felt, in many ways, like a big failure.
Letting go of the sweater is tied into my larger need to let go of this whole failed year and the version of myself I’d hoped to be by now.
I suspect that most people feel this way, grasping for a way to fix all that has unravelled or derailed, to somehow get our lives “back on track” once the pandemic is over. But I’m guessing it’s not as simple as that, and sometimes you just have to walk away to move forward. After all, there is no track anymore. There never was.
Don’t get me wrong, though: letting go is not the same as giving up. And here is one of the best things I’ve read on not giving up:
Instructions on Not Giving Up
by Ada Limón
More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out
of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s
almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving
their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate
sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees
that really gets to me. When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.
Fine then, / I’ll take it is as good a motto as any after the year we’ve had. Be patient with yourself this week. You’ve been through so much. Hold on. Let go. And don’t give up.
Love,
:) Teresa
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I love that poem! And yes, I have a horrible time letting go of things even after they have served their useful purpose. My city just had a recycling drive where they took textiles and I unloaded multiple garbage bags of stuff I had stashed in corners that was not suitable for even Goodwill.
You have done something so valuable - given us something to look forward to each week; thank you. You’ve also given us hope in what feels like a hopeless time. By turning the seemingly mundane into a reflection of what matters in our own lives and how we can positively influence the wider community 💛