Some things were never meant to be held onto. The tide doesn't apologize for pulling back — it just trusts there's more water coming.
I stood at the edge of the shore not long ago, watching a wave gather everything in its path and then, just as easily, let it all go. No hesitation. No grief. It simply returned to where it came from, certain that the next wave would arrive with something new.
I've spent so much of my life gripping — old versions of myself, relationships I'd outgrown, plans that no longer fit who I'd become. I held on because letting go felt like losing something. I never stopped to ask whether I was just standing in the way of what came next.
The ocean doesn't grieve the water it releases. It doesn't keep score of what stays and what leaves. It just keeps moving, trusting its own rhythm, certain the tide will always bring something back.
I'm learning to trust that too. That letting go isn't loss — it's just making room. That the version of my life I'm reaching for can't arrive until I open my hands.
So today, I'm releasing what I've been carrying that was never mine to keep. Softly. Without ceremony. The way the ocean does it, again and again, without needing anyone's permission.