Learning to Float

*Originally published on my Wordpress bog on 03.04.2020

It was part of a greater conversation and that greater conversation is still mulling around in my head. For the moment then, I’ll choose to write about one part of the discussion. I’ll write about letting go. That term gets tossed around so readily yet I find it hard to define and perhaps even harder to put into practice. To let go of something or someone means you let that person, that thing, that idea go free. You release them from your grip.

Are there times when letting go is a pleasure? Sure. Letting go of a dreadful bout of the flu, letting go of an irritating neighbor, letting go of unwanted body weight - these are all times when letting go is exactly what you want to be doing. Three cheers for that kind of letting go. But then there are the people, things, and ideas that hurt to let go of. Some things in my own life that were hard to relinquish include:

• My dad, who died in 1996
• My mom, who died in 2014
• The house I grew up in
• My work at the middle school
• The driveway that used to be here
• My college life and connections
• My identity as a distance runner
• My close friend Frank, who died in 2010
• Life at home with small children
• Life at home with teenagers
• My knees (new ones were installed in 2015)
• My youth
• The vacant lot at the end of the street
• The family’s favorite restaurant in town
• The friendships that slowly disappeared over time

There is also letting go as in not being bothered by something. I guess it’s similar to that list above but I think I mean it more in terms of attitude and perhaps every day life. Someone cuts you off in traffic? Let it go. They didn’t have your favorite flavor of ice cream at the store today? Let it go. The neighbor builds a massive second story apartment onto their garage that impacts the light into your kitchen? Let it go. Your adult children work too hard? Let it go.

This letting go business is complicated. It hurts like hell when someone or something you value leaves and you have no choice but to let them go. It can take a long time to heal from that kind of letting go. In fact, the pain of it never really leaves. You just get used to living with the bruise. What about letting go of something you want but isn’t yours to have? A job opportunity, a house, a baby, a sweetheart? You can tell yourself all sorts of reassuring things like maybe next time or this means there’s something better waiting for me but it’s still hard to let go. Letting go of irritations and negativity? Hard to do sometimes because we may feel justified in our feelings but what good does it do to carry them around. What about when your team doesn’t win (in sports or politics)? Sure, try again but it’s disappointing and can feel as if the world has let you down. Letting go can be such a challenge.

Here’s the thing. To let go is to die a little bit. To let go is to practice the ultimate letting go. After all, isn’t dying the quintessential letting go? To die means to let go of life as you know it and move into the unknown. Some days I am okay with dying. I think that I’ve accomplished what I came here to do and, though there may be plenty of other wonderful things yet to do, I am not leaving any loose ends. And, truthfully? I’m curious about life after death, if such a thing even exists. Other days I am scared or angry about dying. I hate the uncertainty of what comes next (if anything). I’m angry because I don’t like change and I don’t want to be left out. Dying is definitely change and it’s the ultimate act of being left out. At least, left out of life as we know it.

I want to get better at the practice of letting go. One thing I know about letting go of things in life is that it makes you lighter. When you’re not carrying a hefty burden through your days, you are free to walk lightly. You are free to experience buoyancy. You can rise above other things. A person cannot always be buoyant. There are times when life is simply too heavy to not pull us down. During those times, we do the best we can. We take one labored step at a time. We breathe. We lean on others. When the time is right, we let go of the heavy burden (or at least most of it) and we find our resilient selves floating again.

That’s what I want. I want to float. I want to not be attached to worry, to anxiety, or to specific outcomes. I want to feel alive, unrestricted, open. I want to be delighted with life as it comes to me. I want to be BFF’s with life and hold hands while we see what comes next.  If only.