Friday, October 4, 2013

Aramid

Autumn has ignited the burning bush in my backyard, a few tiny but prominent red leaves tell me so.  It wont be long before every branch is ablaze in a fiery crimson.  Thats pretty much how suddenly my life turns while Im attempting to prolong summer, lounging under a beach umbrella at the gulf shore. Trouble finds me down south, filling me with exasperation and dread.  I think about not coming back, really I do.

Although I want some sympathy from my friends, I know what I really need is some new perspective. So I turn to my Twitter feed, in search of virtual words of wisdom.  I happen upon insight into happiness from Psychology Today, and am immediately hooked as I read a fathers words describing the struggles he faces letting go of his growing son.  

While I can completely relate to this parenting story, what I am most taken with is how this author applies the need to let go in other places in his life. We assume that we should hold on to people, beliefs and behaviors to be happy.  Life will always take things from us we want to keep, he observes.  The trick is in recognizing that those things which we cling desperately to can ultimately be the source of our pain, not happiness.

As Im reading through the list of personal examples he boldly shares, I begin to think about my own.  When I trace my current misery back to the source, I come up with themes that are all too familiar to me.  What do I need to let go of in order to make room for more happiness?  Heres my list:

My need to be seen as perfect, great at everything. While  I seem to do a decent job of understanding that no one else can possibly be perfect, I hold myself to a higher standard.  This can make me wary of trying new things for fear of getting them wrong, and worse yet, leaves the real me and all of my groundbreaking ideas trapped behind a safe, but lackluster, facade.

My belief that good things can only come from hard work and vigilance.  Holding on to this means I never allow myself permission to slow down and ultimately robs me of the joy that comes from cashing in on good luck or chance.
 
My need to have my work acknowledged and recognized. Waiting for rewards and validation from others means Im never satisfied with my own achievements and I doubt the power of my words and actions.  If I wasnt always looking for others to like my photos on Instagram, favorite my tweets and pat me on the back for a job well done, maybe there would be room to just enjoy what I do?

On the flip side, its only fair to acknowledge the things I manage to let go of quite regularly: 

My need to say "no to my children because its convenient for me.Ive become really good at assessing a request and accommodating it whenever possible by asking myself this question:  Am I saying no because this request is really so terrible or because its just not what I want to happen right now? My kids now are much more likely to go quietly and respectfully when they get a no because I only use it when it really matters.

My need to compare what I have or what Ive achieved to others. This one is such a time waster.  Youre always going to find someone better, smarter, faster than you are.  When I stop trying to attach a "number" to what I do, and instead focus on doing what I enjoy Im much happier with myself.
 
Its easy to feel like youll never be able to cut these cords. I recently came across the opinions of a dating expert (if there is such a thing) compiled in a list of impossibly hard things we should all have completely resolved if were ever to be relationship-worthy.  I felt defeated for a moment, until I realized if relationships were reserved for only the people who have all of this right, wed all be single.

Letting go, to me, is a process, a practice, a mindset.  I dont know that anyone ever totally masters it.  Recognizing when were holding on for dear life and working to loosen the reins goes a long way; as does a little kindness to ourselves when we find the grip tightening again. 

Its like dousing the sparks before the blaze is out of control.


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