Letting go–Saying Goodbye
Part of the joy of celebrating a new year is letting go of and saying goodbye to the old year, especially if that year has been particularly challenging.The year both my mother and grandfather died, and the year my husband’s father and then mother died were two years I remember being particularly glad to say good bye to, embracing the following New Years with a sense of hope and relief.
But that’s the thing. There is no ringing in or beginning the new—of anything—until we let go of and say goodbye to the old—old ways of being, old ways of relating, old ways of working and creating, and old years. As a weaver, I know I can’t put a new warp on my loom, until I have cut the previous warp off. To begin anew, to start over, one often has to first say goodbye and let go of the old.
Life is a constant cycle of birth, life, death and rebirth. As much as we may occasionally fight it, we can’t stop the cycle. In fact, stopping the cycle IS death.
So, just a few days before New Year’s, my husband and I helped our youngest son, Jason, pack up his 
newly purchased used car to follow the advice of Horace Greeley and head west, young man.
He had been living at home for the last two months while he figured out some new directions for his life. And while he pondered, wrote music, and worked for a local property manager, I got used to cooking and doing laundry for three again. I got used to his presence in the house, even though I knew it was only temporary, as it should be.
The knowledge, though, did not make it any easier for Bob and I to say goodbye that crisp, clear winter morning. Nor, I suspect, did it make it any easier for Jason to drive off. Goodbyes are hard, no matter how promising the new horizons.
But they are necessary. Jason’s departure means new growth and opportunity for him, and restored privacy and solitude for Bob and I.
I spent the days following Jason’s departure, cleaning out my studio and thinking about the process of letting go. As I went through piles of papers and books, sorted yarns, and washed windows, I knew that I had to let go of old stuff that no longer served my interests and goals to make room for new books, new projects, new interests—new me. To hold on to old stuff would be holding on to the old me—the person, the weaver and writer I was ten years ago. I don’t want that. That would be a creative death.
So I let go of yards of fabric I had woven, books I bought, and piles of paper and information, taking much of it to our dump, and putting the rest aside to share with friends.
The result? I start this new year with space in my house, my studio, and myself for new possibilities, new people, and new creative ideas–even while I shed a few tears for the goodbyes.