Letting Go

I have a problem with letting go. It's not so much as the letting part as it is the go part of the entire phrase. Letting things happen? Sure, I do that all the time. Letting this work their way out, letting life take its course--those things, I can do. But go? Going? Moving? Keep going? The "go" is what's difficult for me, especially since I harbor so much (or many) in my little heart. First world problems, yeah, but I don't know any others.

I find that I get frustrated, especially with friends and family who have done things or said things that hurt me. I become fixated on the pain, rather than the growth from it. So yes, in the end, I do end up growing, but the feelings of hurt and anger resonate a lot longer than they should. It's as if the essence of what was said forever remains, like a scar, something I'll never be able to forget. I think that's a problem sometimes, especially considering that I have to see some of these people more than I'd like to.

And here we are, after a crazy rough and tumble year, sitting at a somewhat-the-same desk, drinking some iced green tea on a Sunday morning and I still can't seem to imagine what my life is supposed to look like. I feel like everyone goes through a stage like this, you know? Trying to "find" their purpose. My problem is that I thought I knew my purpose and now, it seems like I grasping at frayed edges--at something I know is absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent there, and my fingers can't seem to find it. It kind of sucks, but I keep telling myself I'll be a stronger person.

How much stronger can you really get, though?
Let's face it. I'm no Superman. I'm just a girl with a dream.