What am I, a stretchy toy? It sure feels like it sometimes. Life likes to grab me by both ends and pull me as far as I can possibly go, until I swear I’m about to rip in two. I eventually have to choose. I have to go one way or the other. One hand has to let go. I sheepishly realize that feeling torn is my own doing. Life isn’t trying to torture me. I’m the one who’s insistently grasping. I’m the one who wants to have it both ways. I want to be able to lose weight and eat another chocolate-chip cookie. I want to go crazy on the freeway and make it home safely. I want to relax, unwind, and enjoy my life, but I also want to frenetically control every aspect of my surroundings in order to make sure that nothing ever goes wrong. I want to learn without ever failing or making a mistake. I want to love without loss and without ever getting hurt. I want to accept life on life’s terms while throwing a temper tantrum whenever I don’t get my own way. No wonder I feel stretched beyond my capacity. I need to let go, to breathe, and to trust. Everything will be okay. Honest. It might hurt for a while, but growing pains are an unavoidable part of the process of growing up. And I would rather grow than get stretched out of joint.