Let Go, part I

What are you holding onto?

In my closet, all the way to the right, tucked into the corner, just beyond the Hawaiian blue chiffon dress I wore at my brother’s wedding, a sassy pair of boot cut blue jeans hangs from the same hanger that has held them for the
past fifteen years. They’ve been a favorite all this time, in spite of the fact that I haven’t been able to squeeze into them since the summer I graduated from high school and fled the dreary Copper Country. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I cling to the hope of what those blue jeans represent.

Every woman knows what I mean. Somehow, it has nothing to do with the jeans themselves; it has everything to do with the way you felt when you wore them. I have one lone photograph of myself wearing these jeans, and when I see it, I still marvel. I look happy, I whisper to my soul. I want to feel the way I look in that photo.

Okay. Let’s be real for a moment. Blue jeans do not have the ability to make one happy, neither can they make one beautiful or engaging or alluring or any other desirable trait. They are an object of denim, stitch, and button. In light of eternity, they mean nothing.

But here in my physical world, they represent something. They represent the young woman I was fifteen years ago: Bright, hopeful, unjaded, confident. So you see, they are–and are not–just a pair of old blue jeans. There in the back of my closet, they whisper to me that I once was this woman…that I should be her still…that I could be her still…

The truth?

I can’t.

Oh, I’ve no doubt that I can somehow find beauty and life and confidence in myself again. I only recognize, as a woman in her thirties is more able to appreciate, that it has taken many choices, many roads for me to become the woman I am today. The girl in those jeans? Yes, she was unjaded; she was incredibly naive. Yes, she was confident; she was incredibly foolish.

Beauty is deeper than a pair of jeans.
An appealing spirit reveals in the eyes, not the hips.
Confidence is knowing who you are, not being comfortable.

So this year, as I approach the New Year, this wretched pair of blue jeans are the first thing on my list.

I’m letting them go.

Pax!
Sar

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