I was reading a book this morning and came across the word "growth." In general, I'm a huge fan of that word. Maybe because I need it. I need it to get to who and where I want to be. And whenever I get some, then everything gets better. Today I had a very different reaction. I'm so tired of that word. So tired of all the growing. Of all the continuous effort to cram new & improved ideas into my head, and take the old ineffective ones out. Of all the lofty peaks to climb, only to summit and discover another series of peaks before the true mountain top that offers the view I long for. The lessons are great, of course, and I can see the improvements happening in my life, but I'm bad about slowing down and being patient. If there's somewhere I want to get, I'd rather hurry up and get there first and THEN stop, breathe, and enjoy the view! Life is short, and I hate to think that I'm wasting any with anything less than wonderful beauty, peace, joy, love, adventure, and purpose. Lucky for me, today's next lesson was different. I wish I had learned this one better years ago. Instead of requiring effort, this one removes it. Instead of making me tired, it lets me breathe easier. The lesson: Let Go. Of everything. Ev. Er. Y. Thing. Got a concern? Let it go. A regret? Let go. A loss, fear, or grudge? You know what to do. Are you trying to control something? Make something work out? Just let go. It doesn't have to "make sense." Let go anyway. Your holding on won't help, and it will eventually wear you down. Easier said than done, perhaps? Well here's how: imagine that the universe is made of a wide river of a gazillion tiny points or waves of potential that momentarily solidify into objects as they pass by, thereby forming houses and trees and people and buttered toast with strawberry jam (which happens to be the case in my left hand just now). That's actually exactly what physicists are telling us these days about how the universe works. It also makes for nice imagery for you to imagine all those cares and controls just washing away down river and leaving you standing there, alone, lighter and more peaceful now. Able to look around and breathe. Your hands free at last to enjoy the moment. What I expect to find from this new lesson is that everything works a *whole* *lot* *better*. A few hours later, I've already noticed several improvements. It's a matter working smarter, not harder, and letting God lend a hand rather than trying to do it all on my own because I thought I had to, because I believed that was the quickest way to arrive somewhere. I'm happy to admit I was wrong, and regret that I didn't learn this sooner, but I'll just let that go.