In the spirit of Lent . . .
I’m possessive. There I said it.
What’s mine is mine and it’s no one else’s. At least in my mind that’s how it is. Don’t get me wrong, those things that are mine I take care of. I take great care of my possessions. In a way I’m this way about the people I love too but because I love them I tend to loosen my grip so they can experience the world the way they want to. You know, love is like that. It’s not supposed to be stifling.
This isn’t always easy however, because in addition to being possessive, I am pretty darn protective and if I see things going south for said loved one, I’ll want to hold on tighter to keep them from harm. And because I’m also unnaturally intuitive, I tend to see these harmful things before anyone else does. Sigh.
The thing is, I’m not God. I’m not in control. I’m not in control of I Am Yours any more than putting the words from my heart down on paper and doing my best to make sure it’s the best story I’ve ever told.
Eventually, I have to let it go.
Let it go to the content editor to critique and advise on changes; let it go to the copy editor to critique my errors and advise on changes; let the proofreader take his jabs at it . . . let –it – go . . . and give it to you, to read, then critique and make a decision about whether you enjoyed it.
I Am Yours is not mine anymore. Not my possession. It will be yours. I am working through the process of letting it go no different than I’ve had to learn to let go of people or things that have worn out their welcome or want to seek other, more glorious, opportunities.
I am letting go because that’s what this is all about. No matter the dangers that may lie ahead, I can’t protect my story from you. I have to let you have it and do with it as you please. Why?
Because I love it and in loving, I have to let go.