LifeFiles: How Long Can You Beat Yourself Up?

The year is more than halfway through. But I'm developing New Year's resolutions that I should have come up with in December.

I need to learn to let go of dying friendships, guilt, grievances -- everything that bogs me down.

I have made many mistakes. I have hurt people, chosen the wrong path, spoken the wrong words. As much as I learn from these experiences, I struggle to move on. I feel a need to relive my errors and bad choices as if it will serve me some good.

I agonize over the friendship I had with Amy, the one I didn't want to end. She's not the only one, though. I look back on the last handful of years of my life and am saddened by the friendships that have dissolved and wonder what I could have done differently.

Should I have said something sooner? Did I miss signs that it was all about to fall apart? Was I just being selfish?

I realize that as I settle into my 30s it's inevitable that my friends and I will follow different paths. I'm married and thinking about children, while many of my friends are living the single life. But friendship is supposed to endure through it all, as foolishly romantic as that sounds.

When it comes to debating my role in what went wrong with Amy -- or any of the other people who I thought would be around forever -- I just don't know how and when to say, "Enough."

How long can I beat myself up about it and consider every angle before I drive myself crazy? Logically, I know that attachment to a losing proposition is just an opportunity to bear dead weight. I'm always talking about losing pounds, not gaining them.

But my heart doesn't always listen to common sense.

A few people tell me, "Why would you worry about something you can't control? It's her problem, not yours. You can't do anything about it. Just deal."

And yet I am surrounded by people who also have difficulty letting go. It's not an easy task to rip off that buddy Band-Aid, especially after years of friendship.

My close friend John is having a hard time getting over a breakup, even though he's the one who did the dumping. I know the feeling of wishing things could have turned out differently and hanging onto something that is never going to be right.

Relationships should be celebrated for the time they last, not mourned for their demise.

As callous as it makes me feel, I try to eliminate friends who don't want any part of my life anymore. Deleting a person's name from a cell phone is no guarantee they are gone from my head, though.

If only I didn't think to call Amy on the way to work like I used to, or wonder if we'll ever get sushi and Sapporo again. As soon as I think to reach out to her, I wonder "Why isn't she calling me?"

I keep thinking it's my fault that she's not around anymore, that our falling out was on my shoulders when nothing is ever that simple.

Yet, I realize no matter how keen my hindsight is, I did what I did and need to accept it. Accept and move on, right? Pretty obvious, yet never easy.

I tend to hold on tightly when I really shouldn't, as if a little more water will actually revive a shriveled up plant.

An end feels like a failure, and I don't like to fail.

So what is the secret to letting go and living in the moment? How can a second-guesser like me give myself a break and release the past?

Stop trying, perhaps. Quit replaying the scenarios in my head. Don't talk about the person anymore with every ear within reach. Going over and over the loss does not bring resolution. Letting go is not failing.

More than that, I have to think about right now, not then. I can control now. I cannot control others, what they think or feel about me -- only my own life.

I have a great life despite the people I can no longer call friends. I am happy regardless of the job I didn't get or the way I mishandled a situation. I have good friends who deserve my focus rather than wasting it on the past.

I will always miss the friends I have lost, and I doubt I will ever erase them totally. Perhaps there is no such thing as a lifelong friendship, but I am not about to spend my life stressing over it.

Who knows, maybe Amy and I will find a way to dance to the same drummer again, and we can make each other smile.

Until then, I am officially allowing myself to let go. That's a resolution I can hold onto tightly, no guilt involved.

Laura Lewis Brown is an adventurous newlywed who has loved, lost and doesn't mind sharing. Her column appears every other Thursday.