It’s one of those things, hard to define, but you know it when you see it, when you see them, people at ease, comfortable in their being. The lack of tension in the body. I saw it in my grandfather, the leaning in. My grandmother, the letting out. I continuously try to paint this feeling. Mostly to remind myself — a reminder not to carry, to strain or keep. What I need will flutter in. What I don’t will fly away. And there is beauty in both. 

Visiting our relatives in Kansas City, I experienced something special with the music. Maybe it’s the way with jazz. This letting in, and letting go. A lovely freedom. Not confined by paper or recording, but simply played — for the first time, and perhaps the only. And to hear that, a sound that simply rests on shoulders for but a moment, you feel a magic that was never meant to be contained. 

I suppose it’s the same with love. With life. This letting in and letting go, with the grace of no restraint. No protection. When I remember this, I release, I relax, and let the music play.