Learning to Let Go

When I was 10, our family was planning to go on a multi-week road trip which covered roughly 7500km, hitting 6 provinces. In preparation, I demanded a detailed itinerary.

And I mean detailed.

In the end, I settled for a general schedule of where we were going to spend each night. I came across that sheet of paper a few weeks ago, and still felt a little cheated that I didn't have more details, like where we would stop for lunch, and where we'd need to fill up the car with gas.

Some people may say control freak, I say "invested in expectation and surprise management".

Ok, control freak.

It's never bothered me. I've been constantly mocked by my family for this (though my parents are both compulsive list makers and spreadsheet-ers, so I'm not falling that far from the family tree), ridiculed by my friends for this, and it may even cause the occasional rift between Scott and I. It's just never been a characteristic about myself I've wanted, and, therefore, needed to change.

But I should have known the need for change was coming.

It started in the first trimester when I sheepishly corrected my boss that my due date wasn't in October, when the workflow in my office slows, but rather right in the middle of September when all hell breaks loose in our department. She smiled weakly and said: "it looks like you've learned your first lesson as a parent: babies tend to set their own schedules"

Then in my second trimester, I furiously scribbled notes in our prenatal class when our instructor was explaining how to maintain a sense of control throughout the labour process, when you may feel that everything is out of your control. And as I scribbled down her list, I found myself already taking her advice: controlling my focus, controlling my movement and controlling my breath.

Finally, in my third trimester, I found myself in a modified seated fold position at prenatal yoga, being told to visualize the supports I would need to be flexible and accommodating of all the events of labour that I could not control. I may have envisioned the only way for me to be that flexible and accommodating was to have the Road Runner drop an anvil on my head.

It was starting to become fairly obvious that this control freak was going to have to learn to let go.

Sometimes letting go means letting someone else be in control. Sometimes letting go means bracing yourself for what's to come, without trying to influence it. Sometimes letting go means surrendering the perfect vision in your head of what you want your life to be.

In my case, letting go means saying goodbye to this blog.

Cara's Closet has carefully moderated a public view of my life when in reality there was much spinning out of control. It's been my safe haven for nearly 5 years. I have grown a lot in those 5 years, and attempted to have the blog grow and change along with me, to varying degrees of success. I'm not necessarily done with blogging: I'm likely to carve out a little spot somewhere else on the internet. As scary as change is for this control freak blogger, I'm looking forward to having a chance to start fresh and see where this new adventure takes me.

This time, I'm going to try to leave my detailed itinerary behind.