Last night, Dan and I were talking about how, as a child, I collected seashells (in the same way that others collected baseball cards or stickers) and would ask anyone who had been to the beach to bring me back some. I grew up in a suburb of Denver and had never seen the ocean, and I couldn’t explain why I felt so drawn to shells. (I now see that my soul was calling me home to the ocean, where I feel the most myself.)

Anyway, my stepsister lived some of the time with us and some of the time in France. She traveled around the world with her mom and had recently found the most exquisite shell that I had ever seen. It was round, about the size of a small sand dollar but spiraled all the way from the outside to the center. It was magical. After much begging and wheeling and dealing, she finally agreed to give it to me in exchange for many of my most prized shells. I was elated.

Soon after this, we decided to set up a stand at the end of our driveway to sell our least favorite shells to anyone who was interested. Needless to say, we weren’t hopping with business. In fact, only one person came by: a classmate who was riding her bike and happened to see us. She said that she had some shells of her own and would bring them by so we could trade. When she came back, we traded a few shells with her, and she went home. I realized then that my beloved shell was missing. I went to her house and asked her if she took it, which she vehemently denied. But I knew that she had. I was heartbroken, and I never spoke to her again.

Soon after that, we moved to California, and I lost touch with most of my childhood friends. So that brings me back to last night when I was reminiscing about all of my shells with Dan. I have no idea what happened to my childhood collection, but since we’ve moved to the coast, I’ve started another one. Each time I go to the beach, I find the perfect shell that will remind me of the time I spent there. It’s become a healing practice, and I love filling my container with shell after shell…evidence of following my soul and creating a life that feels just right for me.

I hadn’t thought about that missing shell for years, and it popped into my mind last night. I wondered about the girl who stole it. I figured her life must’ve been horrible and that karma would have taken care of everything. So I looked her up. Well, she seems to be thriving. She placed 6th a few years ago in the Mrs. America pageant, has a successful real estate business, a beautiful family, and looks like she’s thoroughly enjoying life. At first, when I saw this, I was taken aback and wondered how this could be. Surely she must feel remorse. Surely it must be eating her up inside. I had imagined her being in prison by now…

And then I realized that I wasn’t perfect as a child either. I did things that I later regretted, things that I’ve let go of and have forgiven myself for. And while I didn’t steal someone else’s beloved shell, I realized that there may be others who are looking at me and wondering the same thing that I thought about this classmate of mine. And realizing this helped me release the anger that I’d been holding onto all of these years. We were just kids, and it was just a shell. And it’s time to finally let it go.

How about you? What are you holding onto? What are you ready to let go of? It’s my hope that you’ll find loving ways to do so.

Hugs and love,