Letting Go of Yesterday

Riley realized it wasn’t really her mother she was angry with. Yes, she had shaped Riley’s reluctance to step outside her comfort zone. But her mother wasn’t here now. The only thing holding her back

Image by Marylee in Canva

Dear 📖 Reader,

This is another “side-story” about one of the characters of the Women of the Canyon” series. I have no idea if these short stories will be included in the final books or not. It is a way to get to know the characters better, some of their deeper thoughts and dreams. I hope you enjoy a little extra weekend reading.

Please take a moment and share your thoughts in the comment link below. I truly appreciate your time and attention!

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Letting Go of Yesterday

Riley knelt by the row of pots, fingers moving methodically, plucking away the withered blooms from her pansies. It was one of those tasks that required just enough attention to keep her hands busy but left her mind free to wander. As she worked, she found herself caught in a familiar cycle of thought—one that circled back to her regrets, those missed chances that still gnawed at her.

Another dried bloom came away in her fingers, brittle and lifeless. She flicked it into the growing pile at her side and sighed. How many times have I done this? It was like life itself: no matter how much she pruned and tidied, there were always more dead blooms to find. It felt endless. And, lately, she wondered if her whole life had been like that—endless cycles of trying to fix things, never really moving forward.

As her fingers dug beneath a particularly dense clump of leaves, she uncovered a hidden flower—small and shriveled, it had never had a chance to open in full bloom. Her breath caught. The sight of the neglected bud brought an unexpected ache to her chest. It reminded her of the things she had missed out on, the experiences she’d never had because she’d been too scared, too wrapped up in obligations, or—more truthfully—too under her mother’s watchful, controlling eye.

Her mind drifted back to her high school years. She remembered how her friends had invited her to join their weekend camping trips, to ride horseback in the open fields. Later, in college, she missed opportunities to explore places she had only read about. She had always turned them down, telling herself that her studies were more important, that she needed to be practical, responsible. But deep down, she knew it was fear—fear of what her mother would say, of stepping out of line.

I missed so much because of her, Riley thought bitterly, snapping another dead flower from its stem with more force than necessary.

Her mother never knew what Riley had secretly done. Hiking, running up to the top of the mountain behind the nearby high school. Biking around her college campus in the middle of the night. What would her mother say if she found out now?

But, she died years ago, and her voice still echoed in her mind: “Those things are not safe, Riley. You need to stay close to home.”

Now, in her late forties, with her architecture business left behind and no clear path ahead, she realized her “future” had always been about what others expected of her, not what she truly wanted.

She paused. Staring at the pansy in her hand, a thought struck her.

I’m not that girl anymore.

Her mother was gone, her old life back in Vermont was over, and here she was, in Echo Canyon, surrounded by people who didn’t know her as anyone other than who she chose to be today. She was free—freer than she’d ever been.

She looked down at the wilted pansy still in her hand. It had been smothered beneath the healthier blooms, unable to thrive. The analogy wasn’t lost on her. I’ve been that hidden flower, she thought, but I don’t have to stay that way.

The second half of the 21st century had opened up new avenues for exploration that her younger self could never have imagined. Virtual reality adventures that felt as real as the physical world, eco-friendly gliders that soared above the desert at sunset, community-driven expeditions into untouched lands where technology met nature. There were so many ways to embrace adventure now—ways that didn’t even exist when she was younger. The opportunities were there, right in front of her, if she just stopped mourning the past long enough to reach for them.

As Riley sat back on her heels, brushing the soil from her hands, she realized it wasn’t really her mother she was angry with anymore. Yes, her mother had shaped her decisions, her fears, her reluctance to step outside her comfort zone. But her mother wasn’t here now—Riley was. The only thing holding her back was herself.

Tears welled up as she let that truth sink in. The grief she carried wasn’t just about missed adventures—it was about the time she had wasted blaming her mother, the years she’d spent being angry and clinging to her mother’s old messages instead of seizing the opportunities that were available to her now.

Riley took a deep breath, feeling the crisp canyon air fill her lungs. She made a decision right there, kneeling among her pots. She would start saying yes. Yes to trying things she’d once feared, yes to adventures she thought were behind her. Whether it was exploring the canyons on horseback, joining a community stargazing night with new friends, or signing up for one of those virtual reality expeditions that would let her experience the rainforests she’d always wanted to see—she would do it.

Riley smiled as she clipped the last dead bloom from the pansy, a lightness filling her chest that she hadn’t felt in years. The dead flowers were gone, and there was space now for new blooms to grow.

In the days that followed, Riley took action. She joined a local group that explored the hidden corners of the valley, trying things she’d never done before, like gliding above the desert at dawn in a solar-powered ultralight.

But more importantly, she started living her life without the past filters she had placed on her decisions. For the first time in years, Riley felt like she was capable of following any pursuit she desired, including her business.

Like the pansy, Riley was ready to bloom, unburdened and free.