Dear Reader,
Every now & then, I see a light escape your tightly sealed container.
A beam shoots out & dances on the ceiling. It excites people around you, & sparkles on parts of the world I wouldn’t have otherwise seen.
Every now & then, I experience freedom with you; an ease & vulnerability so beautiful it could bring me to tears.

But eventually, always, you re-close the lid - as if embarrassed by your own beauty.
You re-mold yourself into the shape someone else created for you. You erase the scribbles that excitedly colored outside of the lines. You curve the edges of your lips into what could mistaken for a smile.
I know better.

There are moments in life that stop me in my tracks, & this is one of them.

My feet strike the grass one stride after the other,
Aatto trots alongside as my effort fades into the background. I am listening to an audio book play through my earbuds.
“…The building of the true & beautiful,” she says,
means the destruction of the good enough.
Our next life will always cost us this one.”

I stand still in the grassy space that divides two paths.
An entire city walks on either side of me, as we all embrace freedom from an otherwise quarantined day.
I crouch down to open my notes, I slow down the speed of Glennon Doyle’s voice, & I listen carefully:
“The building of the true & beautiful means the destruction of the good enough.
Our next life will always cost us this one.”

My eyes rest to the ripples of the lake. I lose track of everything else around me.
I feel my heart deepen & expand, & my mind seeks interpretation.
Glennon’s words speak truth to my experience in a past relationship… but there is something else.

After a few moments, I press play & replace my phone in my pocket. I lift Aatto’s paw to untangle his leash, & we begin again.
My feet strike the grass one stride after the other as I give the newly planted seed permission to settle in & crack open in its own time.

Two miles later, I enter my front door & strip my sweat-stained clothes.
The seed cracks.

We are always dying. This is what I realize.

Specifically, reader, I think of you.
Because every now & then, I see one beam of light escape your tightly sealed container -
& I finally understand why you always re-seal the lid.
Because in permitting your stunning light to shine,
It would inevitably destroy what currently is.

What currently is is also all you’ve ever known;
I understand why that feels safe - & why this, therefore, feels like the right answer.

In this moment I can feel how powerful & sad it may be to let this version of life die.
I am crying, because I feel the hurt & the confusion that accompanies loss.
And, Reader, if you continue to re-seal your container, I do not believe you avoid destruction - but simply re-place it.
As overwhelming as the death of your current life would be, I can’t help but sense the life you would step into next could be more magical than we ever imagined.

Because every now & then, a little bit of light escapes.
And it is so beautiful, Reader, that it is worth whatever you will lose.