I’ve always prided myself on being someone who can let go.

People. Places. Things that once made me happy.

I’ve walked away from things before—without looking back. Not because I wanted something new, but because I learned early on how to let go. I took pride in being strong enough to move on.

But lately, I’ve been clinging to something. And I don’t understand why.

It reminds me of something that happened in high school.
I quit the volleyball team after junior year. My best friend was furious. We’d started on the team together as freshmen, but her experience was different from mine. She was fast, athletic. Me? I was a little slow. I had good hands, but my body just didn’t move fast enough. I didn’t get a lot of play time. And when I did, I was a ball of nerves. I got anxious about serving the ball. The simple stuff.

Then we got a new coach our junior year. He did things differently—he broke the game down into drills, played us videos, explained strategy. He even gave us a test. And I aced it. He told me I understood volleyball better than anyone else on the team.
But I still couldn’t get my body there.
I agreed with him.
And looking back now, I wish someone had explained that it was simply a matter of training. That I could have worked at it. Conditioned. Strengthened.
But at the time, I was working after school at a pizza shop. My family was going through some things. I didn’t have the energy to sit on the bench every game, watching my teammates play and feeling like shit because I wasn’t better.
So I quit.
And sure, it was sad to lose the team, the bus rides, the friends. But I had grown-up shit to deal with. And I made peace with it.

Now here I am, years later, dealing with grown-up shit again.

And I find myself clinging to this job.
I’ve come full circle with it—hated it, loved it, hated it again, and somehow, I’ve landed in a place where I kind of love it again. But I know it’s time to go.
I feel it.
And yet, something in me hangs on, claws in deep.
I don’t know why.
And honestly, I’m tired.
Tired of the push and pull. Tired of circling the decision. Tired of holding on when I know I need to let go.

I’ve been sitting with this for a while. Trying to figure it out.
And then last week, I pulled the Magician card in a reading.
The Magician pointed to the ground. The message was clear—it’s time to bring what I know down to earth. To live it. To embody it.

So I did.
I meditated. I journaled. I went for walks. I cleaned the house and tried to appreciate the mundane stuff. I thought a lot about what it means to embody something, instead of just knowing it.
Because I know it’s time to leave this job.
But I haven’t embodied that truth yet.
And I realized—it’s the same lesson I learned back on the volleyball court.
Knowing something isn’t the same as doing it.
Understanding the game isn’t the same as playing it.
Wanting change isn’t the same as living it.

Embodying is about grounding.
It’s about getting out of my head and into my body.
And the thing that would have helped me then—the thing that would have gotten me closer to who I wanted to be—was movement. Training. Showing up for myself, physically.
And I think that’s what will help me now.

I need to move.
Not just walk circles in my mind, but move my body.
Work out. Sweat. Breathe. Feel grounded in something real, something present.
Letting go isn’t just a mental decision—it’s something I have to do, fully, with my body and my actions.
And maybe writing this is part of that action.
Maybe this is me naming it.
Maybe this is me taking the first step.

Just because I’ve carried something for a long time doesn’t mean I have to carry it forever.
Just because I’ve built something here doesn’t mean I have to live inside of it.
It’s okay to walk away—even if I love it.
It’s okay to leave—even if I’m good at it.
It’s okay to outgrow a place that once fit me perfectly.

I’m ready for something new.
I’m ready to let go.
And this time, I’ll let my body lead the way.