775 in my Rear View Mirror

I'm a little weepy as I say goodbye to my pearly pink cell phone with the 775 area code. I feel uncomfortably vulnerable and slightly nostalgic. Its embarrassing. Blubbering over changing cell phone numbers is downright loony. I keep telling myself to get a grip.

Since the purchase of my new I phone 26 hours ago, I've been holding it all in. But I'm losing the capacity to hide from my own feelings, and silly as it felt at the moment, I let myself cry. The antidote for my heartache, it seems, is not gripping at all, but rather loosening the grip and relaxing into a soft landing.

Me and 775 have a significant relationship. I got married and was a wife for 10 years in 775ville. I owned a business, sat on community boards, owned a home and a beach house, threw elaborate dinner parties, collected art, drank fine wine, and wore designer clothes. It wasn't a bad gig. Until it all quit working. I started practing yoga to get relief; I was told it would calm me down. The practice, however, became my prince, and once kissed, I began to wake up. Soon thereafter I was splitsville. That was four years ago.

Holding on to my 775 number is a shallow way for me to conceptually stay tethered to pieces of my former life. There are things I miss. Things I could never get back. Things I took for granted. And it hurts. I believe there are layers in letting go and I'm in a zone where my heart is breaking. My practice of yoga is helping me go there with grace.

I know its time. I am ready to move on.

775 in my rear view mirror clears some much needed space in my life. It's about learning from the past and taking ownership of where I've landed and the woman I am becoming. Today is a step forward, with an 805 i Phone in one hand and a tissue to dry my well earned tears in the other.