My good friend, John, has brought his bike back to Philadelphia from his fiance's beach house in Cape May. We have been riding around the city on our way to Indian buffet's and Pho joints. John is an avid mountain biker and isn't afraid of getting scrapes and bruises. He bikes with no hands, even on the bumpiest streets. John was surprised I didn't dare to let go of the handlebars.
I have been with my bike for almost five years. I know how she moves, and she knows how I move. We have been zipping around the city for a long time together. My bike is practically
During a ride around the city, I slowed my pace behind John and I let go. I let my hands hover over the grips. Then I allowed my arms to hang by my side. For. Three. Blocks.
I have worked in a place that didn't quite fit for a long while. There have been some ok years, some hellish years, and some meh years. This year was shaping up to be hellish. The work environment was toxic. I would come home crying. My shimmering soul was becoming dull. It took all of my energy to be the sunshine in my own classroom. I refused to show my students how upset I was because of the administration. So, I let go. Two weeks ago I turned in my letter of resignation. It's time for me to move on. I'm not sure what's next, but everything will be alright.
Letting go can be scary. Scary or not, I have always had the strength within me to let go. Mustering up the courage to see the strength was the hard part.