I think I have a deciduous heart.
According to Wikipedia, deciduous means “falling off at maturity” or “tending to fall off”, and it is typically used in order to refer to trees or shrubs that lose their leaves seasonally (most commonly during autumn) and to the shedding of other plant structures such as petals after flowering or fruit when ripe. In a more general sense, deciduous means “the dropping of a part that is no longer needed” or “falling away after its purpose is finished”. In plants it is the result of natural processes.
Hmmm. I might just have to stop and read that again.
The dropping of a part that is no longer needed.
Falling away after its purpose is finished.
That’s got to be about more than just leaves, right? That’s got to be about the soul too. Maybe it’s a deciduous soul thing, rather than a deciduous heart thing. Whatever it is, it’s a metaphor I can dig.
Maybe this is what #theviewfrom48 is all about? I wrote about the view here and even though I haven’t written much more about it, I have been thinking a lot about the where, why, who and what of being me. That’s nothing new for me, it’s a theme I return to often, and gladly.
It feels right for me to regularly take stock, because I think it serves me well to be mindful about my life, to look at what’s working, what is no longer needed, and to observe what’s fallen away.
Change can be so incremental that you barely notice it, and it can sometimes feel immensely unexpected and violent, leaving you reeling. I’ve known both types of change.
The things that I have let go off, that have fallen away, are as important, if not more important, than the things I’ve collected and added over the years.
I’ve let go of fears – that I wasn’t enough, that I was broken, that I was damaged goods.
I’ve let go of the idea that another person can complete me.
I have let concern about what others say about me fall away.
I have joyfully let go of living by others’ expectations.
I’ve shed plenty of leaves, heck, I’ve dropped branches.
And the falling leaves are beautiful. And the branches make great firewood.
Living isn’t about what we’re sold, or what we accumulate.
It’s about growing, and it is about letting go.
I’m letting go.
That’s the thing with seasons, they don’t just happen out there, in nature.
They happen to us, in us. We all experience seasons of ease, of change, of growth, of barrenness, of renewal.
I think the thing I’ve learned is not to fight that. I’m still learning that.
That’s the beauty of having a deciduous heart.
Autumn leaves aren’t afraid to fall.
I don’t want to be afraid to fall either.
I’m going to keep looking up,