Goodbye to All That

On learning to let go.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

I haven’t been writing much lately. There hasn’t really been much to say. There’s a feeling I get like rain on a window, some sound in it to capture and translate into words, but these days, it’s gone. I listen, and there’s silence.

At the end of the day, there is always silence. It sits beneath the sounds that drown it out, patiently, never asking us to hear it. It’s only when we stop that we realize it’s always been there.

I’m trying to get comfortable with silence, with the spaces in between. I’m trying to learn from nature about winter — that thing I always run from — the recurring reminder that all things end and begin, but between the ending and beginning, there’s silence. There’s a time after the old things die before the new things are born. There’s something there, in that time, something silent.

I think, if we knew how to sit with silence, we’d know better how to let go.

What is it about emptiness that frightens us? What is it we think is out there? Silence can’t slander you. It can’t ridicule you. It can’t bully. It is, and that’s it. It’s there.

Like winter, I’ve spent my life running from silence. I paper over it with noises that sound something like home: songs I’ve heard a thousand times, news I can do nothing about, parasocial…