If I let go, I’ll fall…

We’re moving.  Again.  Third time in less than two years.

This is a good thing.  It’s a fantastic school district.  We’ll be in a house with a ginormous back yard: plenty o’ trees and nature and loveliness for The Boy.  It’s good financially.  It’s good on a number of levels.

That said:  hello, moving stress.

Lots of other changes.

I’ve been shopping my Top Secret Paranormal Project, and I’ve been getting lightly spanked by the “it’s-not-you-it’s-me” rejections from editors.  Yes, it’s lovely to hear “we love your voice.”  That said, I’d prefer to hear “we’d love to publish this.”  Little things.

I have been working with the absolutely phenomenal Entangled Publishing.  They’re new: they’re launching in August, and I am like a frickin’ wriggling puppy, I’m so excited.  I have six authors that I’m promoting, as a publicist.  Because I’m new at this, and they’re new at everything, we’re setting up systems and looking for wheels to not re-invent and things.  It’s very exciting.

And, erm, a little stressful.

I also have my writing blog, Rock Your Writing.  I have been working my ass off, getting that up and running, and this past month I’ve been doing my Mad Plotter special.  I swear to God, it’s so much fun, it doesn’t even feel like work.  I get to talk to people about their plots.  Figure out where they’re stuck, and un-stick them.  They’re happy.  I’m happy. And yeah, I even get paid.  So big fat YAY there!

But here’s the weird thing.  Love, absolutely. But still with the stress, this time stress of the new. And the busy-ness of the business, to use a terribly punny pun.

When life’s chaotic, there’s only one thing to do.  One thing I have pretty much always hated.

It’s called letting go.

I can’t do everything for everyone.  I can’t do everything all at once. 

My arms are too full: I’m trying to carry a mini-van’s worth of groceries in one trip.

I need to put something down.  Put something off.  Let something go.

I have traditionally hated this.  It always feels like a failure.  Like I wasn’t strong enough, or didn’t Tetris-ize my life effectively enough. 

Or I’m afraid that if I put something down, it will vanish.  Or implode.  Or something equally unpleasant.

Sometimes, I’m just scared to let something go.  Like, yes, it’s a lot… but if I let one thing go, then there’s a likelihood my balance will go all cattywumpus and bam! It will all go.  Like pulling out the bottom apple in the neatly organized pyramid at the grocery store.

I don’t know how logical this is, but it’s there, like a particularly real-feeling nightmare.

Sneaking up on letting go.

I’ve been taking a lot of deep breaths, and reading some of my favorite go-to support systems.  Havi Brooks, in my estimation, is a goddess.  She’s got amazing posts on letting go and talking to walls, and if this doesn’t count as a wall, I don’t know what does.

I’ve also been reading Cairene, from Third Hand Works, and looking at her concept of “containers.”  Like nesting dolls, I’ve got my life, and then I’ve got containers for the different elements of my life. The Boy gets his own toy-box styled container.  Hub gets his, as well.  Work.  Writing.  Self-care, a.k.a. “Things That Feed Me.”

The move especially feels like a big metaphor for shedding. “Do I really want to move all these files?  Do we need quite so many frayed towels?  Why do we even still have this Mr. Potatohead?” 

Re-evaluation. Knowing it’ll be good for me.

It means letting go of projects for a while, too.  And most of all, letting go of preconceptions.

I don’t have a lot of clarity right now (see again:  moving) but I wanted to get this down.

What about you?  What are you afraid of letting go?  And when you do let go — what helps you uncurl your fingers and finally put it down?

 

Photo by Charlotte Morrall.  Isn’t it cool?