My mother is a firm believer in rummage sales. Throughout my childhood I was encouraged to go on an annual purge of my toy collection, to cull the items that I’d held onto mostly out of the comfort of familiarity and send them off to a new home. I was an anxious child and this task always pushed me to my limits. I was never quite ready to let go and even the promise of jingling coins adding up in my piggy bank was not enough to loosen my grip on the long-forgotten and ignored items in my toy box. As I got older, though, I began to see the wisdom and beauty in it. When you release something that no longer works for you, you free yourself from the burden of unnecessary clutter, and bless someone else with your bounty. The older I got, the more easily I handed off unworn clothing, uncomfortable shoes, and outgrown home décor. This release did not extend to my relationships, however. I held on long past revelations of irreconcilable flaws of character, kept a firm grasp even i