It is in the letting go that we are found.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately of all of those things we hang on to. Things, thoughts, ideas, perceptions. We grab a hold and they become our truth. We live by them. We fight for them.
For the past 10 years I’ve been practicing letting go. I’ve been practicing that release of the grasp without knowing what’s ahead. The image that most frequently comes to mind is that of drifting on my back down a stream. When I’m relaxed and floating all is well but then there’ll be a rock and I’ll grab it and hold on for dear life. Meanwhile, the water rushes by and it takes all that’s in me to keep holding on until finally, I can do nothing but let go and I’m once again set adrift–things right themselves. I’ve learned from my work on The Sewing Machine Project. With this organization I’ve been shown over and over again that I can let go and the path will appear and the path rarely looks like anything I could have dreamed up. Rather, it’s better. Always better. And even as I write those words I realize that “better” is relative. The route can be rocky, can be foggy, often frightening stepping into the unknown… we are forced to see only where the next footfall will be and beyond that, trust takes over. And for awhile, nothing looks better or worse–it’s just cloudy. We have to trust that next footfall.
But I fight it tooth and nail. I can grab ahold of an idea and push it, deciding I know the outcome and things keep getting in the way. Some might say those are the obstacles that make the end result worth it all but to me, when every boulder seems to plop into my path it’s a pretty sure sign I should loosen the grasp and trust what happens next.
Letting go is scary, no matter how many times you do it. No matter how many times the result turns out well it’s always unnerving when we’re asked to do it again. And sometimes, we hold on until our hands must forcibly be pried loose. I woke one morning and reached for my journal and all I wrote was “it feels like someone untied my little boat in the night and I wake to find myself in the middle of the sea with no shore in sight.” My hands had been pried loose. All that was left was trust.
My friend Bruce once texted me in the middle of the night, weeks before his parole would end and he would head to prison. “It’s all going to be ok, right?” he asked. “Yes, it will,” I replied, “the only thing is, we don’t know what ‘ok’ is yet.” When the only thing you can do is let go the only thing you can do is trust.
I realize that this way of living isn’t for everyone. For many it feels necessary to maintain control and be the captain of the ship. And ten years ago I worked so hard to be the captain. I held on so tight my knuckles were sore and my mind and heart were so tired. And then I began to let go…of the need to know the outcome, of the need to conform to what society told me to be…I just let go.
And the river that had always been flowing swept me up and I began to float. And to trust.