Holding back

I caught myself a few years ago kind of skirting around some of my favorite clothes hanging in my closet.  I had a pair of jeans I loved.  And yet I didn’t really wear them much because I didn’t want to ruin them.  My days get kind of nitty-gritty, so I kept waiting for a day when they’d be appropriate, a day with nothing but sitting in my special jeans.  I’ve done that with sweaters and shirts too.  Is that weird or do any of you ever do that?  It seems strange to avoid the things you like the most.  I think what happened is one day I realized that those jeans I’d loved had kind of gone out of style.  Same with the tops.  So it was with regret that I gave away some of the things I had liked best.  I should’ve worn them out. 

Usually I don’t really care about tangible things too much.  We use our goblets every Sunday and whenever anyone comes for dinner.  We’ve broken maybe a box’s worth over the years.  Who cares.  I’m all about using our wedding gifts and pretty things (although to be completely honest, I don’t know that I have anything that special…).  I’ve left dishes I love all over town I’m sure, but I’m happy to use things and deal with what happens.  I think that’s why it surprised me with those clothes.  So not like me.  Although one time it did backfire.  My mom had given me two glass sacrament cups that I loved.  They were tiny, the size that we use now, just glass, from the olden days.  But a little kid somehow broke one.  I wasn’t devastated, nothing like that.  Just a little protective of my last remaining one.  It’s on a higher shelf now.  In a box.

I think we put a lot of things in boxes for safe-keeping.  Don’t we especially do that with our hearts?  I think sometimes we do hold back.  We don’t engage because we’re afraid of being hurt.  We’ve probably all done it.  I noticed this happening when friends of mine started losing their husbands.  I kind of pulled back from Todd in an effort to not be so dependent on him.  So it wouldn’t be so painful when I didn’t have him anymore.  I knew I was doing that.  I made a conscious effort to have him teach me things about the house and maintenance.  And yet I feel like I emotionally drew back too.  Maybe that part was unconscious.  And yet I finally realized what I was doing.  I would really have regrets if I continued to distance myself in order to save myself heartache down the road.  There would be nothing sadder than to realize I should’ve loved with my whole heart while I had the chance.

I’ve had friends that were so close; I never foresaw a time when we wouldn’t be.  I’m not talking boyfriends necessarily, but you can apply it there too.  Things happened and they moved on.  It is sad to me, and I feel like a bit of my heart left with them.  And I still wonder what went wrong.  But I don’t really regret the time I invested.  I have fond memories and it was great while it lasted.  But it does add to my hesitancy to keep opening my heart again, I won’t lie. 

But even so, I’m usually ok with trusting people eventually, I’ve used my crystal candlestick holders a hundred times, my grandpa’s old black typewriter sits out at the perfect level for kids to practice on, and I wear my clothes when I feel like it, especially my good jeans (unfortunately these days that means they’re comfy, not necessarily stylish).

That’s why I was surprised when this idea resurfaced again just the other day.  Because I was now thinking about it in terms of writing.  Should I save my words?  In case there comes a day when I’ll really need them.  Am I writing too much or too often?  Will I run out of ideas?  Maybe I should hold back.  So I sat on it for a bit.  But then I thought about how so few musical notes can produce countless songs and compositions.  I thought about 26 letters and all the millions of poems, letters, documents, books, and essays they’ve been a part of.  I don’t know if there’s an end to my ideas, I’ve never really done this kind of thing before.  But I’ve filled volumes of journals and written hundreds and hundreds of letters, essays, and papers so far.  I decided to look at it the same as I would the jeans I should’ve worn when I had the chance or the people I should’ve opened my heart to.  I love to write, so I’m going to write when I feel like it.  And if I run out of words or if my jeans go out of style or people move out of my life again, I will at least have enjoyed it all while it lasted.