We started to pack for Italy and I’m finding myself in a season of transition. We still have no idea the dates we are leaving: there are Italian cell phone numbers to acquire, insurance policies to cancel, and healthcare to manage. I want to have everything neatly planned out but we are sitting in a very long waiting room, anxiously checking for paperwork to be signed and visas to go through. At the same time, I’m feeling very tied to the beautiful home I’ve created in sunny Southern California, and with each item passed along to my friends I feel a painful prick of sadness.
Every chapter of my life I have had trouble saying “goodbye”. In middle school I would make scrapbooks and copy down music lyrics to memorialize each experience. In college I would write letters to all of my friends at the end of each year, which were mostly a slam poetry of inside jokes that I can no longer recall what they referred to. In France I kept my blog filled with memories, stories, and photos of every person I met. Heck, I save the Christmas cards I receive every year so I can look back through them and see how dope my friend’s families have become.
In between donating towels and organizing dishware I came across my old journals. My journals are my most prized possessions; one day, I will write a book from them. This time I re-read a poem I had copied down years ago, scribbled into my notebook:
She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.
She let go of the fear.
She let go of the judgments.
She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.
She let go of the committee of indecision within her.
She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons.
Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.
She didn’t ask anyone for advice.
She didn’t read a book on how to let go.
She didn’t search the scriptures.
She just let go.
She let go of all of the memories that held her back.
She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.
She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.
She didn’t promise to let go.
She didn’t journal about it.
She didn’t write the projected date in her Day-Timer.
She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.
She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.
She just let go.
She didn’t analyze whether she should let go.
She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.
She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.
She didn’t call the prayer line.
She didn’t utter one word.
She just let go.
No one was around when it happened.
There was no applause or congratulations.
No one thanked her or praised her.
No one noticed a thing.
Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.
There was no effort.
There was no struggle.
It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.
It was what it was, and it is just that.
In the space of letting go, she let it all be.
A small smile came over her face.
A light breeze blew through her.
And the sun and the moon shone forevermore…
This poem really resonates for me. I often try to organize and plan my way to wellness. If I meditate, if I make a five step plan, if I drink my herbal teas - THEN I’ll feel peace and be able to let go. In fact, this poem is suggesting we don’t need to do anything to let go of what we are holding onto.
I have had success with this of late. Even though the poem says not to read spiritual books - I am reading an amazing book gifted to me by my friend called, “Letting Go”. While written by an academic theologian it is pretty easy to read and comprehend. My biggest takeaway has been to practice the loving kindness meditation on all of the people I love. I have been doing this; thinking about each person in San Diego who has shown my kindness in my time here, sending them spiritual love, thanking them for changing my life, and then mindfully letting them go. It has given me so much peace.
Upon reflection, I have been getting better at this for some time. It has been my experience that the most beautiful things to have come into my life have arrived once I have let go of the expectations I set around timing, circumstance, and societal norms. This is both incredibly frustrating and unexpectedly freeing. When I find myself gripping onto control, I take comfort in the fact that the deepest wells of pain have been transformed into the most beautiful symphonies of joy. In this next chapter of my life, I’m committing to letting go.