Dreams and Notes and Letting Go
Sometimes I send myself emails before I fall asleep. Or I'll ask my night owl husband to text me. Things I want to remember or think about or write about the next day. "Rob," I'll mumble sleepily, "text me and say 'ear piercing, sleeping on opposite side for back scratches, and new bed.'" It's probably obvious that the next day I sometimes struggle to put the pieces together, but I figure it's worth a try.
This morning I woke up to a relatively vague, but perfectly clear thought that's been on my mind all week. You can't force anything.
Because it's true. Whatever it is, you can't force it. You can do your best and you can wish and dream and pray, but friendships and book deals and epiphanies don't always just fall out of the sky. And sometimes, as much as you might want or need something to be immediate, things can take time. Even letting go can be a process.
Simple as that. And, simultaneously, totally complicated.
This post is in response to the following prompt: "Tell me about a time something dawned on you, a realization, words came together or simply you saw a lightning bolt on a mountain." (From Old Friend from Far Away, page 66.) If you write a response of your own, please share a link below in the comments! For a list of some previous prompt, you can check out this post (or just search the Old Friend from Far Away category below).