The last call.

My writing portfolio, from childhood to adulthood, is thick with rich, excited beginnings, with dense character sketches, and scraps of paper scratched over with snippets of unfinished dialogue, overheard one-liners, last thoughts, first lines, and the middlings of many, many stories.

Endings are scarce.  Completed works are a rarity, a collector’s item.

Seldom have I ever been able, in life or on the page, to successfully tie together the finales of anything: relationships, friendships, jobs, eras, romances, reasonings.  Rather, my modus operandi, however untidy, is to let things erode with time, on their own, naturally.  Let people drift, by and by, until they’re invisible, gone.  Continue working and reworking and refining and re-editing.  Move with the change, clumsily even, rather than push against it.  Allow—enable?—a ragged, jagged series of last tears instead of the cold, clean break.

I am trying, at 32, to pick up the ax and use it, with good aim.

And so, with the start of this year comes the end of Hannah, Just Breathe.  Admittedly, I tried to do this before.  (Actually, I’ve contemplated an end ever since the beginning.)

Although I started out attempting anonymity here, at some point the blogger-persona and the real-me-persona melded, molded, and Hannah, Just Breathe and I, together, became hopeful, heartfelt travelers through yoga practicing, moving, dating, aging, settling, dismantling, and rebuilding.  We were honest, nervous, never untrue. We were passionate, opinionated, sad, joyous, struggling, succeeding, wrong, right, and wholly our own.

I asked nothing and yet received reprieve, encouragement, friendship, wisdom, critique, love, inspiration, and good cheer.

But now, five long, eventful years have passed, with me still keying away at this same blog.  The reasons for her beginnings no longer match the blogger, writer, yogi, or woman I am now.  She, this space, feels old, tired, stretched too thin, threadbare.  My readership has come and gone, again and again; the blogosphere has evolved; my writing interests have expanded—and here this blog remains, dusty, heavy with the past, burdened down by a rusting archive stuffed with nearly 700 posts.

Meanwhile, I have other writing projects I want to begin, a new blog I am launching (!!), a new phase of my life to write and share and understand.

Quite plainly, our time is up.

Hannah, Just Breathe: you have served me well.

I’m taking the ax to several other things in my life these days.  But I am choosing not to think of this particular ending as a trip to the guillotine.

Rather, I want to close this blog as I began it:

Gently, quietly, hopefully, an eye on the possibilities ahead, with a lot of breath, a lot of heart, a leap of courage, and full faith that letting go has so much less to do with what you’re losing and has everything to do with all, all, that’s worth gaining.

p.s.  This voice?  These lyrics?  The perfect parting song.

p.p.s.  E-mail me at hannahjustbreathe at gmail dot com if you want to stay in touch!

11 responses to “The last call.

  1. Best wishes to you… sending you peace. Things do change, don’t they? But know that I still read, and I bet others do, too.

  2. Letting go takes courage and heart, both of which you so clearly have. Be true to you and you’ll never go wrong. And, if you think of it, let me know where your writing is headed next.

  3. I’m just glad I started reading your blog and got to know you through it. Best of luck with new adventures and hope to read new writings of your’s soon!

  4. I’m glad we are “facebook friends”. Someday we will cross paths in person, of that I am sure. I have loved your blog since the day I found it and drew much inspiration from you on my own yoga/blogging journey. The blogosphere has changed from that 2008/2009 era that’s for sure.
    I can’t wait to read your first novel. That’s what will happen now, right? ;)

  5. I will miss your words, but I will not miss you, as I hope we do stay in touch.

  6. It’s been beautiful and it brought me to you. Thanks for all of your words and your love.

  7. I’ll miss you and your beautiful writing. Don’t be a stranger, lady.

  8. Keep me in your heart for a while! Thanks for the awesome ride, lady.

  9. I’m so sad (selfishly, of course) to see you go. But, the unselfish part of me (as small as she is!) wishes you well on your new journeys through life. Take gentle care, Hannah.

  10. Thank you for all the years of blogging. It was always very inspiring and entertaining to read your blog. Stay happy :)=

  11. So Sad. I just discovered your lovely blog right when you have closed it. Sorry to see you go.

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