I made an evening cup of coffee tonight.

If you've been hanging around here long enough, you know that's unusual enough to deserve mentioning. 😂

But it's the last Edit of September, we're heading into the final quarter of 2026, and I thought maybe you and I needed one more quiet coffee together before we turn the page.

We've spent this month talking about letting go.

Tonight (Yes, I know that you are reading this in the morning…forgive me while I write this in the dark), I want to talk about what happens after we actually do it.

Because when we finally put something down, we're left with something we may not have expected:

Space.

And maybe we don't have to rush to fill it.

So grab your coffee—or perhaps something more sensible if you are reading this at night—and come hang out with me.

Let's talk about making room for whatever comes next.

I made a very rare evening cup of coffee to enjoy while writing this edition of The Edit.

Normally, I save coffee for the morning. Unless I happen to hit a coffee shop later in the day purely for the joy of it, once my morning coffee is finished, I'm usually done.

But tonight?

I wanted coffee.

And I needed a hangout sesh with you.

Because somehow, we've reached the end of September.

I'm sitting here staring straight down the barrel of the final quarter of 2026, wondering how exactly we got here.

This month, we've spent our Sundays talking about letting go.

We've looked at the things we carry long after they're over.

We've talked about how familiar doesn't necessarily mean good for us.

We've considered the possibility that closure might never arrive in the conversation we've been waiting to have.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that...

I've found a few things of my own to let go of.

Which leaves an interesting question:

What happens with the space that's left behind?

There's a line from Pink Floyd's Empty Spaces that wandered into my head tonight:

“What shall we use to fill the empty spaces...”

The song is talking about the space where two people used to talk.

But tonight, sitting here with my unusual evening coffee and a quiet space, I'm thinking about a different kind of emptiness.

The space left behind when we finally stop carrying something.

When we stop rehearsing the conversation.

When we release an expectation.

When an old identity doesn't fit anymore.

When we stop pouring our energy into something that has been taking up far too much of it.

We spend so much time talking about how to let go that I don't think we talk nearly enough about what happens afterward.

Because suddenly...

there's room.

And maybe our first instinct is to fill it.

Quickly.

With another goal.

Another relationship.

Another obligation.

Another project.

Another version of ourselves we're supposed to become.

But tonight, I'm wondering if maybe we don't have to rush.

Maybe an empty space doesn't automatically mean something is missing.

Maybe it means something is available.

Time.

Energy.

Attention.

Curiosity.

Possibility.

Maybe before we decide what belongs there next, we can sit with the space for a minute.

Coffee in hand.

And ask:

Now that I'm not carrying that anymore...what do I want to make room for?

And that's what I want to talk about with you tonight.

Empty space isn't always loss. Sometimes it's possibility.

Letting go creates space.

That sounds wonderful until we're actually standing in it.

Because empty space can feel uncomfortable.

We're used to knowing what belongs there—even when what belongs there is an old expectation, a relationship we've outgrown, resentment we've carried, a role we've played, or a version of ourselves we're ready to leave behind.

Once it's gone, we may feel an urge to replace it immediately.

Fill the calendar.

Set another goal.

Find another thing to worry about.

Decide who we're going to become next.

Anything to make the emptiness feel less...empty.

But maybe we don't need to be in such a hurry.

Space can be useful.

When we're no longer spending energy replaying an old conversation, that energy becomes available for something else.

When we release an expectation of how life was supposed to look, we can become curious about the life that's actually unfolding.

When we stop trying to be someone we've outgrown, we create room to discover who we're becoming.

And we don't necessarily need to know what fills that space yet.

That's the beautiful—and sometimes uncomfortable—part.

Not knowing what's next doesn't mean something is missing.

It might simply mean there's room for something that hasn't arrived yet.

So maybe the work after letting go isn't immediately finding the next thing to hold onto.

Maybe it's learning to leave a little room.

To notice what feels lighter.

To pay attention to what begins growing there naturally.

To let ourselves wonder instead of immediately deciding.

Because after a month of talking about what we're ready to release, maybe we don't need another assignment.

Maybe we need a little space to ask:

What do I want to make room for now?

And then give ourselves enough room to hear the answer.

Think about something you've loosened your grip on lately.

An expectation.

An old story.

A responsibility that wasn't yours.

A relationship.

A belief about who you were supposed to be.

Then notice the space it leaves behind.

Ask yourself:

-What has become available now that I'm not giving so much energy to that anymore?
-Am I rushing to fill that space because emptiness feels uncomfortable?
-What do I actually want more room for in my life?
-What might happen if I left a little of that space open for a while?
-You don't have to know exactly what's next.

Maybe that's the point.

Before you fill the space, give yourself a chance to discover what you actually want there.

I'm not particularly good at empty space.

Give me an opening and I will find something to put in it.

A project.

A responsibility.

Something to write.

Something to build.

Something to worry about.

Something that surely needs my attention right this second.

I'm very talented that way.

But this month has made me notice how much energy some things have been taking simply because I've continued carrying them.

Old expectations.

Old stories.

Conversations that don't need another rehearsal.

Ideas about what I should be doing or where I should be by now.

And when I imagine actually putting some of those things down, there's a part of me that immediately asks:

Okay. What are we putting there instead?

Maybe nothing.

That's a surprisingly uncomfortable answer for me.

Because I know how to make plans.

I know how to set goals.

I know how to work.

I know how to take an empty space and turn it into something productive before anyone has time to notice it was empty.

But maybe I don't need to do that this time.

We're heading into the final quarter of the year, and everything around us is about to start shouting about finishing strong, hitting the goals, making the most of the last ninety-some days, and preparing for the next year.

There are things I want to accomplish.

There are things I'm excited about.

But I don't want to fill every bit of space I've fought so hard to create with another list of expectations.

Maybe some of that space gets to become rest.

Maybe some becomes writing.

Maybe some becomes coffee with someone I love.

Maybe some becomes an idea I haven't had yet because my brain has finally gotten quiet enough to hear it.

And maybe some of it stays empty.

For now.

I think that's what I'm learning as September comes to an end.

Letting go isn't only about what I leave behind.

It's also about trusting myself with the room that's left.

I don't have to know exactly what belongs there next.

I just have to stop filling it with things I've already decided I'm finished carrying.

This week, don't rush to fill the space.

Instead, notice it.

Maybe you've stopped giving energy to an old argument.

Maybe you've loosened an expectation.

Maybe you've changed a habit, set a boundary, or finally accepted something you couldn't change.

Ask yourself:

What has become available because I'm not carrying that anymore?

Time?

Energy?

Peace?

Creativity?

Curiosity?

Don't immediately turn the answer into another assignment.

Leave a little room.

Do something you enjoy.

Rest.

Try something you've been curious about.

Or simply let the space stay open for a while.

You don't have to know exactly what's next.

For now, make room for the possibility that whatever comes next doesn't have to look anything like what you left behind.

Maybe that's what I want for us as we close out this month.

Not to emerge from all this letting go as perfectly healed people with neatly organized emotional baggage.

Just a little lighter.

A little freer.

A little more willing to see what becomes possible when we stop filling our lives with things we've already outgrown.

You don't have to know exactly what comes next.

For now, clear a little space.

And shine on.

Well, friend...

That's September.

We started this month asking what we were still carrying.

Then we looked at why familiar things can be so difficult to release.

We stopped waiting for conversations that may never come.

And now we're here.

With a little more room.

I have no intention of ending this by telling you to fill that room with a giant Q4 goal list.

We're about to enter the season of FINISH STRONG!

And listen...

I have goals.

I have plans.

I have things I want to accomplish before 2026 packs its bags.

But I also don't want to spend the final quarter of this year frantically filling every available inch of my life.

Maybe some of the room I've made this month gets to stay mine.

For coffee.

For writing.

For people I love.

For things I haven't thought of yet.

For absolutely nothing at all.

Tonight, I'm going to finish my very unusual evening coffee and enjoy the quiet for a little while.

Tomorrow starts another week.

Next Sunday starts another month.

And shortly after that, Q4 begins.

We'll figure out what's next when we get there.

For tonight?

There's room.

And I think I'm going to enjoy it.

Never Forget...

Much Love,
Lady Misty Gebhart