Mid-year, I decided that my blogging topic was going to be “The Year of Letting Go.” Well, it looks like the only thing I actually let go of was blogging.
It Wasn’t Intentional
It just. . . happened. Which got me thinking: What other things did I let go of in 2014 by accident, or accidentally on purpose? Does that mean I’m good at prioritizing, or merely lazy? Most of us need to clear out our closets, strike commitments off our calendars, and let go of relationships that have run their course. (If you don’t ever feel you have too much stuff clogging your shelves or your schedule, then quit reading this and start a blog to let me know how you decluttered your house, mind and life. Please.) On the other hand, we also need to pay more attention to relationships that matter, and commit our time to activities we care about, and have enough clothes—that fit—so we’re not attending PTA meetings in the nude. I guess what I’m saying is I feel the need to be more intentional about what I take on and what I let go of.
Off the top of my head, I can think of two friendships I did not nurture sufficiently this year, a hobby I completely neglected (colored pencil drawing), and a volunteer commitment that went the way of my blogging. I care about those friends, that creative outlet, and the volunteer effort, and I am taking conscious steps to resurrect my connection with them this year. Just writing that makes me feel more committed.
Intentionality Is Not New
On the other hand, there are appointments on my calendar that tighten my jaw when I see them, so I need to start saying “no” more often and weeding out activities that don’t enrich my family’s life or contribute to others’ well-being. None of this falls under the category of “bolt from heaven revelation.” Intentionality is not a new concept; however, we—or I, at least—need to recommit to it on occasion.
Consider me recommitted to blogging. You’ll have to excuse me for the moment, though . . . I’m off to purge my closet of the padded-shoulder jackets from the Dynasty era, the 108 belts I used to wear when I had a waist worth showing off, the pointy-toed shoes that make me feel like a victim of Chinese foot-binding . . .
