Transitions

When you're ready, you're ready. And you're not ready, until you're ready. It's a funny thing but this sentiment holds true for a lot of transitions in life. Almost like when a snake begins to molt, when a caterpillar builds its cocoon, many outside forces and subconscious internal clocks align to signal the time for transformation. And once that process starts, it is unwavering. 

So was my experience last weekend when we held a yard sale. The house felt like it was accumulating things in cabinets and drawers with little to no hope of seeing the light of day again. As I sifted through boxes and reached to the back of the downstairs closet, I found items I forgot I had. These items weren't junk though, as the forgetfulness might imply. They were relics from a specific time in my life I know I have subconsciously struggled to move on from. A business I started when I was full of hopes and dreams, and the naiveté you need to make such a move. I poured my heart and life into that business, until I had no more left for myself. I eventually decided to shut my doors, but I never got the closure I needed, inside. So I've held on to more than a handful of items from that business. Things that do have value, like still in the box merchandise, and things that would allow me to moonlight the business on the side if I ever wanted to get back into it. I think a part of me also is afraid it will be forgotten, and these physical things that I have held onto are keeping it alive. How could something that was once so big in my life, something I brought into existence, simply be gone? What was it all for?

These were the thoughts and questions I was struggling with last weekend. And I succumbed. I did not put For Sale stickers on the most important pieces. I pushed those items to the back of the closet and closed the door. Not ready yet. 

The yard sale went well for an unconventional November morning. I saw people buying these items that once sat on the shelves on my business. It brought me back to that painfully difficult time in my life. The sale concluded, we boxed what didn't find a new home and loaded the car up for a thrift store run.

That evening, I think if you saw me it would have looked like my skin was starting to molt. I was ready. I opened up that closet door and pulled out the rest of it. But these pieces I wasn't going to try and get any monetary value out of, the value I saw was in my own growth. I packed them up carefully and took them to my favorite local thrift store, one that shows tremendous care for the items they receive. The ladies who run the store graciously accepted it all. 

I know that business will always be apart of me. It will never be forgotten because I cannot forget. It is part of my story. Reflecting on the years since I shut the doors, I now recognize I have found ways to turn that experience into my cocoon. I wonder, with reserved excitement, what will happen next?