The art of letting go
I often write about little things we can pick up. Little habits or daily lifestyle adjustments we can take on to add lightness and beauty to our days.
But I’m going in the opposite direction today. What can we let go of?
This is really important.
A lot of the messages we receive out in the world are about everything we must have or need to do. More, more, more.
But we can only take on more—even of things that we really want—when we have space for them. And a lot of us are low on space.
A few weeks ago, I wrote about when it’s wise to take the path of least resistance vs. charge in and make things happen.
I wrote about how my daughter has a feeding tube and we work really hard to help her learn to eat on her own. I wrote that it’s been an “uphill battle,” but I’m committed to doing the hard work — the hours of effort every day in the name of her possibly being able to independently eat one day down the road.
As I’ve understood it, this is what it takes.
If we don’t exercise her muscles and build coordination skills now, the chances of her ever getting there are slim. So, I do it. The whole song and dance with a food scale, a timer, a special puree, a reinforcer, a Nuk brush, plus the formula through her tube, yada, yada. I cart around all the things and do all the stuff.
My sweet daughter gets a little annoyed, but she’s fierce and awesome and used to being nudged along.
I, however, am increasingly exhausted, and a few days after that column ran, I lost my mind.
I hate to put it that way, but there was a lot of crying and emotion and the dawning recognition that that I’ve been trying to sprint a marathon, and I’m really, really, tired.
Also, the world is a mess, and I think that’s throwing a lot of us off more than we realize.
I’ve been wanting to write about what’s going on in Ukraine since the conflict started, but I’ve been at a loss. I don’t know what to say, and beyond making a donation and saying prayers, I don’t know what to do. All I know is that I feel it, and “it” constitutes a lot and remains open-ended.
All of this is to say that I was already feeling off and unsteady when I realized that I cannot in-fact sustain what I had just declared in my column. So, the revelation solidly knocked me out.
But one takeaway has been clear as I’ve continued to attempt bouncing back: I have to let something go.
This is tricky.
I’m obviously not letting go of my daughter. I’m not going to let go of trying to give her everything I can, or even the possibility that she could one day eat —which I’d say is squarely 50/50.
But as I’ve reflected, I could let go of shame.
The thought: “I should be able to handle this” which feeds the narrative: “I’m lazy/a failure/terrible and bad,” etc.
I can let that go of that.
I can also let go of some rigidity. Some days we won’t do all the things. I can let that be an option, be OK.
The vision I’ve had while pondering this is of a bright and vibrant flame. I’ve pictured the flame representing the core, the truth, of who we really are, and felt like our mission in this life is to let it shine. We do that by following what feels warm, what feels soft, and light and right. That action feeds our flames. It’s our path to radiance, from the inside-out.
But it’s not the only part of the path. We also have to remove the gunk and patchwork that we innocently — usually unknowingly — lay on top of our gorgeous flames over the years. Those grudges, grievances and ideas of how everything “should” be block our views and access to the light.
Some of your blocks may be immediately obvious. Some are sneaky. Some involve things we’re not ready to release.
In any event, this is worth looking at.
What could you let go of so that you could possibly shine more brightly? Or is there anything that maybe you can’t quite let go, but perhaps you could be willing to see differently?
These are the questions I’m kicking around. I’ve made a few little edits so far, but mostly I loosened up and took a step back. I opened my heart and mind. From this standpoint, I can see how this is much more about me than my daughter. My own ingrained beliefs and ways of operating are the source of the struggle. I’m willing to see it all differently.
This clearly remains a work in progress. But as I move forward, I at least know that I can follow her giggles and smiles. Both of our flames like those.
