Never say never.

For the last 6 weeks, I have been moving houses.  Not just any house, but out of a home that when I moved into, I said I would never leave. That it was my forever home.  And for the next ten years, I treated it that way.  I built a life, a home, a garden, a sanctuary. 
It also became a prison.  

How can I properly reveal to you all the kind of pain that occurs when you leave behind one dream to make space for a new one.  I thought I would never leave. Not only that, I thought I COULD never leave. But here I am, leaving it behind. Making peace with what will never be in that house. No grandkids on the swing, no more coffees on the front stairs in the morning.  No saying hello to my neighbours and exchanging not only pleasantries but neighbourly love and appreciation.  Sharing baking, sprinklers and flowers with each other.  It breaks my heart a little each time I think of it, knowing that they aren’t far from my new place, but that immediate exchange became such a key part of my inner experience.  

It’s the same thing that happens when I think about my separation. My heart breaks when I pack up our family photos, mementos, and chipped wedding china.  The promises, the vow, the expectations built up from what I thought marriage should look like. What my investment was, and the residual loss from it’s failure. But in the breaking of it, the cracks are where the new possibilities that life has to offer seep in.  Hearts break all the time.  But after the break, do you position yourself towards the light or towards the dark?  

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack, a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in  

-Leonard Cohen

And so, I leave the house.  It’s now simply walls filled with dust bunnies, echos and light.  Potential. 

My greatest strength and biggest weakness is seeing the potential in all things.  Buildings, Places, People, Love.  If you allow potential to drive the car, the “otherness” of the object is never allowed to be. The person is pushed aside for who they could be.  The house for what it’s missing.  Perfection quietly becomes the judge and the measure to which things can never meet.

The irony is that potential exists everywhere. It's always present, always possible. But potential is not kinetic. It doesn't become reality on its own. It requires movement.

And if you're constantly trying to prevent something from happening—or force something into happening—you miss the movement that's already unfolding. You miss the small shifts, the subtle becoming. You miss the peace of simply letting something be before asking it to become something else.