Letting Go
I’m so ready to let go of this year. Good-bye and get out. The clock’s hands can’t move fast enough. For someone who is challenged with loosening the grip on life, I have no problem releasing this year, or do I? As I write this, I can feel my jaws are slightly clenching. I’m thinking of the mess we went through and what we still must endure. I’m holding on to frustration, fear, and anger. I’m not even close to letting this go…
When the calendar turned to January 1, 2020, I was certain this year was going to be a gamechanger. Just look at that number, 2020…it’s the visual acuity number assigned to people who have clear eyesight from a distance of 20 feet. In the big picture, 20 feet isn’t such a reassuring, hopeful number. But last year as I romantically pondered that seemingly perfect number, I was giggly in my bones. I created my vision board and got ready for the manifestation of ideas in this spectacular year where the stars would align and clarity would flow, and the pieces would come together to reveal the mysterious, wonderful pathway into a new view, a new world, a fresh new year of clear vision! I wonder how many others had a similar burst of “let’s go!” as they clicked glasses, hugged, and kissed at midnight last New Year’s Eve. We free-fell into the new year. Like many New Year’s Eves, I felt a sense of relief, like I had a fresh passport and a clean start. I tend to unhook myself from guilt’s grip and release the weighty thoughts of what I didn’t get done. I have nothing to judge or regret…it’s the new year, a new canvas, and I allow myself to float freely in this space of possibility. I let go.
As January gives way to February, and then March, I can feel the momentum of Spring, new life beginning undersoil, and creative energy within me wanting to land in my life. I’m happy to let go of my winter coat, the snow shovel, long dark nights, the cold. There’s a promise, like knowing for sure the sun will rise every morning, that Spring is coming.
I didn’t see what else was coming…COVID-19.
And everything I and most everyone knew as a “normal” day ended. I remember the novelty of the first two weeks when few people truly understood the seriousness of what was happening and what was coming. It was a “vacation” for some people, a good excuse to stay home, start happy hour a little earlier, catch up on sleep, and perhaps organize a closet or two while we waited out the 14 or so days. And then we could get back to it, or so we thought.
How do you react when something happens that is totally different than what you expected or what you want? How do you process disappointment? How does it affect your mood, your perspectives, your patience, your compassion for others and for yourself?
Faced with an unknown, the mind quickly starts sorting and processing to come to an understanding, a known. Even if it’s made up, not based entirely on fact, but rather a storyline that serves as an explanation, the hope rising out of that can feel like grabbing a through line to safety. The story serves as something to hold on to. I recognize that I do this often in my life. I make up stories about what people are thinking, what I’m capable or not capable of. I wonder how we’ll survive this epic moment in time and choose to love and accept each other, even in our differences and after all this stress. I lie in bed at night, my thoughts jumping from one story to the next, the movies in my mind between 2-4am are gripping. I’m holding on so tightly…like a stubborn dog not letting go of a slimy bone. I hold on for dear life to the horror show in my mind.
Why do I hold on to thoughts that feel so bad, scary, destructive? I believe it’s because I’m preparing for the worst. I want to know where all my blind spots are. I want to know that I’ve done all I can. I recently heard a line in a movie, “prepare for the worst, expect the best.” The thing is…I throw out the later part, and my “preparations” are not truly preparing…I’m stuck in the quicksand of fearful thinking, ruminating, and running scenes over and over again without a plan or a solution. Unlike the 100s of shows and movies my husband and I watched since March, my mindmade movies don’t have a beginning, middle, and end. They have a nagging never ending and always frightening middle. And since the mind and body are completely connected, my heartrate increases, my hands feel clammy, my gut is in knots, my mouth is dry, and my eyes are wide and scanning. In my holding on and believing in the worst, I’m in fight, flight, freeze mode. It’s the same physical feeling I had when I bungy jumped off a bridge in New Zealand. Scared to death.
I don’t want to die.
The primitive brain is in overdrive, and I’m tempted to reach for my phone and check the news. What’s going on now? How many people have died? Can I get tested? Will I be able to safely see my family any time soon?
As the summer progressed into fall and the leaves began to change color, I noticed them start to let go, then float lightly through the air and down to a soft landing. They created a bed of bright texture and color against the green of our backyard. In all this craziness where normalcy and steadiness feel so rare and far off, I felt a peace in the moment come over me. There was a sweet comfort and relief in the simple normal routine of leaves falling in autumn. The leaves were letting go and giving way to the natural cycles of the seasons. They made letting go look so easy.
I decided to take inventory of the warehouse of thoughts and stories I make up and hold onto. I started noticing the repeating remarks and movies playing in mind and the effect it has on me. I see that I become unavailable in a way, and I miss the good things happening right in front of me. A therapist years ago suggested I approach these crowding thoughts as if I’m talking to someone and say “Thanks for sharing, please sit down.” Rumi, a renowned Sufi mystic and poet, suggests we invite all our thoughts in. In The Guest House, he says,
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
- Rumi
(translated by Coleman Barks)
I’m realizing it’s a lot easier to clean out a closet and declutter the house than it is to clear the clutter in my mind. Maybe letting go happens only when I stop holding on so tightly. Maybe if I trust that it’s safe to let go of my grip and simply sit here with my thoughts and listen, they will be free to leave. And I will be free to move to the next moment where real, useful guidance and clarity can come to me. As I let go, I am free to receive. As I exhale fully, I am able to take an inhale completely. Our very lives depend on our willingness to allow this simple, automatic flow of opposites.
May we all notice where we can loosen our grip and be available to receive more of what brings us simple joys and more peace in the moment.
