Hello friend,
Before we can put one more thing in the Yes bag or the Love bag, we have to empty a bag first. And it's not the one you think.
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WHERE WE LEFT OFF
Last week I asked for the strangest thing in your Ghost bag, and one reply has been living rent free in my head ever since: the knitting. The knitting that sits in the corner. Not being knit. Just sitting there, holding a chair hostage. My mother had a version of it, the needlepoint and the quilting that sat there for years, needing to be done. If you know, you know.
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THIS WEEK
Everybody assumes we start with The Performance, it's the fullest, it's the one you complain about. But here's the truth about the Performance bag: as heavy as it is, there's usually something in there that's working for you. Keeping a peace. Holding a relationship. Earning something you actually value. We'll get to it, carefully.
The Ghost bag is different. Nothing in it is working for you. Every single thing in that bag costs you energy every time you see it or even think about it. And here's why it's the hardest bag to empty, the same thing that happens when we try to clear clutter happens here: everything in that bag was put there by a woman you loved being. It was a passion of a younger you, or it was chosen for the future you that you wanted to become. That's why it's so hard to touch. And that's exactly why all it can do now is drain you.
I learned this the strange way. Two years ago I left my community and moved, and my Ghost bag emptied itself in the truck. What's in it now is the searching, the shopping for a new doctor, a new dentist, a church, a hairdresser, a gym, my hobbies, all of it being chosen again from scratch. And I'll tell you, choosing at this age is a different experience than inheriting the choices a younger woman made and never re-asked.
Because that's what most Ghost bags are full of. The church your beliefs outgrew, and you don't know how to leave. The book club you joined in 2000 when your kids were young and you desperately needed a night out. Has it evolved? Have you? The hairdresser a younger you chose, whose chair you still sit in, leaving disappointed one more time.
So here's the question, and it's the only one that matters in this bag: who is the woman who made this choice, and is she still here? If you were choosing today, would you choose that wool and that pattern? That church and those people? That woman to cut your hair?
It sounds small. It is not small. Every time there's a pit in your stomach when you walk past something or think about something, it drains you of the woman you are here to be.
And here's a thought that makes the letting go easier: could your ghost be someone else's joy? That knitting, that needlepoint, that quilt, there is someone out there, a class in a school, a woman in a guild, who would love to complete your project. Give it to her. Ask her to send pictures when it's done. Your ghost, her joy.
Because here's the thing about emptying this bag. It doesn't just free up your calendar, it hands you back the energy to pour into something that charges you up, and charges up everyone around you. Do you honestly think your hairdresser enjoys watching you leave disappointed again? Do you think the book club loves your energy when you've had to drag yourself there? Maybe what's charging you up right now is line dancing. Then go, they would love to see your smiling face. The way I figure it, if you aren't bringing joy to the room you're entering, your Ghost bag is affecting a lot more people than just you.
Who is the woman who made this choice, and is she still here?
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A QUESTION TO CARRY
If you can't spot your ghosts off the top of your head, here are twenty. Count how many are yours.
The knitting, needlepoint, or quilt in the corner, not being made
The gym membership, five years, five visits
The church your beliefs outgrew years ago
The book club you joined in 2000 for a night out
The hairdresser a younger woman chose
The standing call for a friendship that quietly ended
The committee that solved its problem years ago and kept meeting
The course from 2021, still 8 percent complete
The volunteer role you took because no felt rude
The sourdough starter you're feeding like a pet you don't like
The language app streak you keep out of fear of the little owl
The monthly lunch where you sit in the car first, gathering yourself
The board position for a mission you'd have to look up
The craft supplies for a hobby that ended in 2015
The piano nobody has opened since the kids left
The season tickets
The walking group that walks directly to the coffee shop
The "we should get together" text you've both been sending, insincerely, for six years
The certification you keep renewing for a career you left
The treadmill. You know what the treadmill is doing.
Anything over five and you're not busy, you're haunted. Pick one this week. You don't have to cancel it yet. Just name it out loud, this expired, and say the year it actually ended. You know the year. Naming it is half the exorcism.
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One more thing before I go. If this letter poked at something, Friday's episode of The Crone Stories is for you. Bari caught herself saying "I should be happy" and realised the voice saying it wasn't even hers. What she replaced it with is one question, and it's the same question this whole letter has been asking. It's waiting for you on Spotify and Apple Podcasts.
Hit reply and tell me your oldest ghost, the thing and the year it actually ended. The knitting set the bar last week. I have a feeling somebody's about to clear it.
In love, light and laughter,
Karen
P.S. If you rehome the knitting, ask for pictures when it's done. I mean it.