Thursday, February 25, 2010


socks wear out. this is a fact.
especially those white ones you wear inside your tennis shoes.
if you put them on your feet, wear them, and actually move around and participate in the world, they will eventually develop holes somewhere and reach a point where no amount of darning will revive their former state of cushiony life.
and if you try to keep your favorites around, extending their lives, what you will eventually discover is that the only way to do this is to keep them off your feet and in the closet.
which makes them only the favorite socks you used to wear.

I have a pair of Favorite Socks that have already crossed the line into the Not Good arena, but I do not want to throw them away. because truly, there's only a hole in one of them. the other is still okay. and I don't want there to be a hole, because I really love these socks, and the sides and tops are still fine . . .

letting go is difficult.

I find something I like--or even love--and it spends time in my space, and I am so happy with its form, its function, its fragrance, its ambiance... whatever it might be. then, over time, it fades or becomes less fruitful or loses its essence or becomes depleted or dies. at this point there is grieving, there is acceptance, and there's often a desire to replace.
sometimes you want the exact same thing, precisely what you had before, and it can't be found.
(now this is where google can be extremely helpful, and I have used it numerous times to try to track down something I don't know where to find. of course, I don't always have success. but it's sure better than how it used to be, searching through catalogs and running from store to store, or just having to give in to the impossibility of ever finding that nutty item you just have to have.)
other times you're ready for something different.
and some times, just some times, a replacement is not possible at all.
you acknowledge the loss, you grieve, you--at some distant point--finally come to acceptance, and you carry what was as a part of you forward, inside, always.

socks grow holes, candles burn and melt away, chocolates get eaten, mugs break, plants and even people die.
new is not always better, but it doesn't have to be worse. new can be exciting, stimulating, invigorating, and possibly even better for you. but nostalgia or just plain longing for the old often remains, for just as long as it needs to.
for socks, this may be a few months.
for my beloved orchid, perhaps a bit longer, even years.
for people, possibly forever.
and it's all okay, isn't it?

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