Photo credit: Stephanie Ecate

I Moved and Learned the Biggest Lesson In Letting Go

I must say I commend these babies for being able to discover who they are at such an early age. These youngins are like twelve, fourteen, and twenty living in the essence of themselves, unbothered by societal norms, with zero fucks to give ’cause. I mean, I just got rid of my last fuck two weeks ago.

I commend them though. It took me awhile to get to a place where I could be confident with living in my actual truth, not the façade I tried to convince myself I should be, my unadulterated, funky ass truth. It’s like exfoliating the dead skin to reveal the new. And we hear quotes all the time about letting go of the past but do we really know what that means to us?

In these last two weeks, I learned what it meant to me and all I had to do was move.

There’s so much you can learn about yourself during a move. And I’m not talking about shifting a few things around or feng shui; I’m talking about a straight up, pack yo shit, sell or give away what you can’t take and move yo ass to a whole new location that’s not two blocks down the street. A real move. The most tedious task one could ever complete. For someone who doesn’t like sitting in one place too long, I hate the process of moving. The thought it takes to determine what stays and what goes, finding the most “Earth-conscious” ways to pack everything away, the heavy lifting, back and forth trips, the pre-move…it’s cumbersome, stressful, long, physically and emotionally draining.

And it pissed me off.

It pissed me off because I had so much shit and had no idea where it came from, why I needed it, what its uses were, or why I didn’t just throw it all away. It was massive amounts of papers in storage bins, bags, folders, drawers, folded away and tucked in a not-so-neat organized mess. The worst part was going through all those “things” alone. At the onslaught of the move I had my mom to help and when mom is there you can forget the arguments; just throw the shit away and keep it pushing. However, when I was alone, it was different for me. Rummaging through work I created over the years brought back bittersweet memories. I looked at these items and the ideas that seemed far-fetched five and six years ago but there are influencers, right now, doing it. I had these ideas before it was popular and I gave it to others who had no clue what to do with it.

That pissed me off.

It pissed me off more because I had the shit lying around and completely forget it existed until I started packing. So, I tossed it. I took every stinking idea within those mounds of printer paper and tossed them in the trash, letting go of the past, releasing myself of the energy that I allowed people to confine me with, breaking the cycle of giving to those who don’t deserve. Over the course of five days, I trashed everything that no longer had a place in my life. There had to be at least ten to twelve bags of trash. I wonder how many of us really paid attention when Erykah Badu called our crazy asses bag ladies?

Just carrying bags like it’s cute.

We didn’t listen.

I know I didn’t because I thought putting everything in a storage bin, instead of a bag was cute. I had piles of storage bins with papers, tchotchkes, charger cords for phones that no longer work, a Blackberry, weave extensions, I mean, WTF was I doing with all this shit? Then it hit me that I was carrying it from place to place, redistributing it in different ways, placing it neat nooks in each place I lived. Just like my emotional baggage. I didn’t realize my emotional baggage was correlated to the “baggage” I kept in my apartment. The same hurt, past ideals, confinement from underserved loyalties had not only seeped into my relationships, I was living, eating, sleeping, and showering with it daily. The energy in your home is transferable; it flows, it’s constant. Matter is everywhere and it all has its own frequency. It taps into us in various ways. I couldn’t figure out why my brain was so cluttered and it’s because my house was cluttered, but I believed it was OK because it was tucked away in a storage bin, out of sight, out of mind in a place, and everything has a place, right?


I replaced my bags with storage bins thinking it was cute to stack these “things” on top of each other but no matter the color, the size, or the design, it was still an organized mess. A cute, shitty, organized mess. Sounds like your last relationship, doesn’t it? Cause it damn sure sounds like mine and all the relationships I had before the last. Nothing changed, until I threw it all away and moved.

I don’t even have the same furniture or the same bed. It’s all new for me. A new space with less stuff. That’s what letting go really means. We say we’ve let things go but all we’ve been doing is moving it from place to place and putting it inside a fancy bag in the corner where no one, not even we, can see it.

That’s not letting go.

There’s so much we need to throw away physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Our souls are weighed down by all the baggage, mind blocked from all the clutter. I used to think my “Olivia Pope” wall was cute until I took all those damn sticky notes off the wall. It was as if my mind took a breath of fresh air. I literally began to breathe different. I lived in my apartment for almost three years and last week was the first time I took an actual breath of fresh air. It’s a wonder I had time to hump on a man with all that crazy energy crowding my space.

I lived in such a crowding space that I believed was Zen. I fooled myself. This idea of holding onto to things that no longer have use in our lives is a fallacy. The belief in that idea, the fear that prevents us from freeing our hands keeps us stagnant. Please don’t continue to be stagnant. Let go of all the unnecessary shit in your home and I promise, you’ll let go of all the unnecessary shit in your life. Even trees shed their leaves.

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