Letting Go 
by Julie Russell Beebe

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The tree out front still clings to its dry brittle autumn leaves, although by all calendars the first day of spring was two days ago.  "Let go!" I implore it.  Last year I pulled its leaves off in an attempt to "help" it get ready for spring.  But it did the same thing this year and I decided to let it be.

It's a young tree - still held upright by wood poles thicker than the trunk.  It's as if it wasn't given enough love or enough promise that the future would bring more leaves in a few months.  Maybe it's forgotten or doesn't trust that what happened last spring will happen again.  It just didn't want to let go - until now - when tender young leaf buds are pushing off the old dead leaves.  Does it want to be sure that there's something new before it will let go?  Is it looking for a guarantee?  I suppose it wants to make sure it's doing the right thing.

How do you know when it's time to let go?  How do you know when it's time and all the moisture is gone from last year's bounty?  How does anyone trust that there will be new promising green leaves in a few months if you allow yourself to be naked and raw during the coldest season of winter?  Usually in this season people wear thick layers of clothing and animals grow abundant layers of fur to protect them; but the deciduous trees must go naked to experience breathtaking phenomenal growth in spring, the season of hope.  They are asked to go naked during the cold winter months and rely only on their stored inner warmth.  How do the little trees do it? 

When I whisper to the tree to let go - I know I am also whispering it to myself.  Let go of preconceptions and expectations.  Let go of things that are dry and brittle and distracting you from building your inner power.  But it's hard.  I don't want to let go - like my little tree - until I witness the debut of something new.  I don't mind so much that I've outgrown or worn out what's currently in my life and will struggle silently with what doesn't fit or just isn't working.  I am so afraid of that season of outer cold that I forget about my inner warmth.

In the past I have waited until something new appears to let go of something old.  I have clung to the dead remnants of a relationship until a new one had appeared.  Today, with more inner strength, I am faced with something different.  Outside it is spring, but inside I am trapped in the beginning of winter.  I am clinging onto my old beliefs as arduously as my little tree clings to it's dead leaves.  

Letting go is the right thing to do - but the right thing is never the easiest thing.  

I want to cling - hoping for a miracle that what is obviously dead will suddenly come back to life.  I want moisture to spontaneously surge through the veins of the leaves and time will reverse itself and make the leaves green again.  And in this little fantasy, I would cling to everything old permanently.  But I'm not an evergreen, and neither is my little tree.  I can see by the blanket of brown leaves on my spring lawn that it is time to let go.