Today I am learning a lesson in how to let go. Mama bird is preparing for her first bird to fly away. I’m sitting criss-cross-applesauce in front of some of my oldest daughter’s favorite picture books. The high school yearbook committee requested a baby photo with a short message from us. It wasn’t hard to find the photo, but I’m struggling with the message.
I could say all the usual platitudes, but that doesn’t ring true to her and I. Both of us have intense personalities whose vivid nightly dreams rival M.Night Shyamalan films.
We have come a long way from me kissing the palm of her hand on her first day of Kindergarten so she could hold it to her cheek whenever she felt lonely for home, as Mrs. Raccoon does in Audrey Penn’s book. We made it through 8th grade. OMG, 8th grade.
We got to the other side of some pretty tough stuff, each of us reeling from the intensity we felt. Me, holding my breath outside her door and wondering what to do; her, swept away on a roller coaster where she couldn’t control the breaks.
What I learned then was that there is no guarantee of tomorrow and I had to stop acting like there was.
How did I retrain my habit of assuming I could out control the future by planning, fretting, pacing, listing, pre-feeling awful feelings, knocking on wood, etc.? Hint: it wasn’t by resisting the truth of the situation. I had to be intentional.
It’s a scary thing to let go of the illusion that you can predict the future. Back then I had a 5 year plan, a 1 year plan, a plan for the month. Heck, my plans had plans. I had to retrain my brain each time it went down the path called, “What does this mean for the future?”
Letting go of the control illusion
First, I created a mental parking lot where I parked the anxiety, automatic thoughts, and possible awful things lurking the future. Initially, my thought habit was so strong that I only noticed it after the fact. Gradually I was able to note my thought habit sooner, then sooner still. I imagined myself as an emotional valet, responsibly driving each thought into a parking spot.
While searching for ways to be more mindful, I discovered breathing techniques like 4-7-8, which helped me to anchor into what was happening right now. I used to laugh when people said you need to learn to breath. Now I get it.
Later, I learned how to lean in to my feelings by becoming more precise with naming my emotions, as well as less scared of acknowledging my emotions. I realized that emotions are temporary. Instead of running away, I stayed put and leaned in.
Ironically, by trying to chase controlling what is uncontrollable, you miss out on what you can control, which is noticing what is happening right now, in this very moment.
Have you ever tried to grab something with a closed fist? You can’t. When your brain is holding on to the illusion of controlling the future or racing away from feeling strong emotions, you close your fist from receiving the unexpected blessings of the present.
This morning, as I turned the well-loved pages of those picture books, I started weeping. It took me by surprise. I’m happy for my daughter to begin new adventures. And I am in awe of her resilience, her persistence, her humor in the face of life’s absurdities. These are life skills which will serve her well.
Remember to let go and lean in
So why was I crying? At first I didn’t know that it wasn’t about her as much as it was about me. Who I am 18 years after she was born is as transformed as she is. We both are facing a life transition. I can’t predict how it will go, and that’s okay. I’ve let go of that.
These tears are telling me something. They’re telling me to lean in, to stick with it. I know how to do that. We know how to do that. I’m resilient too.
And if I ever get lonely, all I need to do is hold my kissing hand to my face and remember that we will always, always, be connected.
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