Today, I completed my biannual weeding of the things in our apartment. This included another pass of my books. I let go of four more today. That was on top of the random pass I did last week where I let go of ten. Our bookshelves are now looking rather empty.
But that's okay.
These books went to the community bookcase in our building's laundry room. I've noticed that many of the titles have already been scooped up by our neighbors. These books, almost all of them unread, had no more meaning to me - they've have gone to someone else who found them to be of interest.
That is why I love letting go.
These books will live on for someone else. They will give joy to someone else. They will inform or entertain or provoke feelings in someone else. They no longer did that for me. I want to read other books. I want to get those feelings from other titles and other stories.
Letting go does not mean trashing something. Letting go means living on.
But that's okay.
These books went to the community bookcase in our building's laundry room. I've noticed that many of the titles have already been scooped up by our neighbors. These books, almost all of them unread, had no more meaning to me - they've have gone to someone else who found them to be of interest.
That is why I love letting go.
These books will live on for someone else. They will give joy to someone else. They will inform or entertain or provoke feelings in someone else. They no longer did that for me. I want to read other books. I want to get those feelings from other titles and other stories.
Letting go does not mean trashing something. Letting go means living on.
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