A few months ago, I had just spent a good hour whimpering to Nate about the things I’ve had to let go of.
“I’m trying to be really patient.” I said, choked up, trying not to cry.
It felt like I’m in a holding pattern, circling the airport, waiting to land a plane. Or sitting at the gate, waiting to finally take off.
“What if it's not for me?” I asked. “I l…