I pulled the tie between my fingers and watched as my hair fell past my shoulders. I stared at my reflection, noticing the hints of silver atop my head marking the passage of time. I made a mental note to make an appointment to cover the telling color.

You’re only as old as you feel, right?

I wish that were true, but my days are numbered. There are only so many days, months and years to live this one life. And the silver reminds me of the urgency to empty myself. To let go of what doesn’t matter. To quit trying to be who I thought I was supposed to be.

The damaging part of religion is that so often we’re not encouraged to be who we were created to be. Rules, demands, and “suggested” behavior and attire were part of my experience. And I carried a heavy burden to meet them all. I should have realized how ridiculous it had become when I spent my Saturday nights and Sunday mornings in angst over making sure I was selecting proper attire in which to sing. (Just fyi…having to wear 3/4-length-sleeve shirts in the dead of summer in Alabama is ridiculous!)

I’ve started listening to my creative voice that I pushed away for so long, fearing it didn’t meet the Christian criteria. I remember standing in my kitchen, telling my husband how I really wanted to write songs that wouldn’t be suitable for the Christian genre, and agonizing over that desire. When I let go of my idea of what I was supposed to write, the words starting flowing. Surprisingly, the more I empty myself of words, the more I write.

Since I’ve started letting go of how I thought things were supposed to be, new opportunities have begun to surface. I wasn’t looking for them or even expecting them, so they are a pleasant surprise. (More about those another time.)

It’s a new adventure for me…this letting go of the need for perfection (which I was never good at anyway) and wandering down the unknown path. I don’t feel the ever-present conflict of having to choose between maintaining some warped, almost non-human image and the creativity burning within.

This one life with numbered days is beginning to seem enjoyable.

Maybe I’ll let my hair fall past my shoulders a little more often and stare at my reflection. Maybe I’ll wait about making that appointment, and look a little longer at the silver threads that remind me there’s no more time to waste on trying to be someone I’m not.