22 & not a clue

Letting go is rather like a bikini wax. You know you need to do it, you know it's good for you, you know you can't bare yourself again without it. But it hurts like fuck.
Sometimes you even pay someone for the privilege of helping you. Forty eight bucks in my case, at Brazillian Butterfly in Richmond.

So as I lay there this afternoon in the awkwardly primary coloured themed treatment room the old thought came to me. "Fuck, I'm in Australia" & then Rip.
Let rip.
I have let go of a huge chunk of my life this past year. Soo much change has washed over me and come to pass that it really does catch me some times.

I have graduated uni with a 2.1, I have paid off all my overdraft & credit card as well as buying a flight & visa, I have moved 10,000 miles away & I have started a new life out here complete with job, flat & savings. In two & 1/2 weeks I'm going to Sydney. I have let go of soo much in order to get to this point. All of life is an act of letting go. You accept all that has come to pass to grow to be the person whose ready for what comes next. So as I handed over my 50 dollar note I smiled to myself as I realised that at 22 I no longer blush or feel ashamed about who I am or where I have been. I simply let it go.