Something no one tells you about growing up is learning the art of letting go.
I have a tendency of being a dragon. I cannot fly, nor breath fire, nor cast fear those around me. I can, however, hoard. All my possessions are a form of treasure. Each with a little story of how it came to my life.
I have artwork from the time I was a bit obsessed with Horton Hears A Who. I have notebooks from my middle school years, scribbled with overdramatic poems and musings. Photographs encapsulating moments in time with people whom I no longer speak with. Notes that were shared between friends I thought I was always going to be with. Little memorabilia of places I’ve been, people I met, relationships made, memories cherished. And even though I know I no longer need these little knacks and goods, in my heart, I struggle to let go.
I struggle to let go of items that have a certain attachment to people who were once important to me. Like a scrapbook — filled with art, inside jokes, memories, and promises of an everlasting friendship. Or sheets of papers with stories written in a biology class.
When you enter university you are given this marvelous concept: new friends, independence, unforgettable memories, adventures, road trips, new experiences. But no one tells you of all the things you have to let go and leave behind: people, friends, laughs, moments, memories.
But as a dragon, I hoard all those things. Anything that reminds me remotely of anyone or anything stays in my treasure trove. And it starts an avalanche of what ifs.
But to grow up, one must grow away. Move on from ghosts of the past and the items they haunt, but moving does not necessarily mean forgetting.
Letting go means does not mean forgetting.
As I grow up and let go of my various treasures I will remember the moments in my heart, for those were vital parts of the ever going path I walk on.