Letting Go

Life is a funny thing.  We hear all our lives, work hard, do good, be faithful, keep your head down and everything will be okay.  So we plan and we work and we do due diligence.  We suit up and show up, even when we don't feel like it.  We work until we are bone-weary.  We plan.  We take responsibility. We work. And sometimes, everything is not okay.

It's easy, when things fall apart, to criticize and doubt and blame.  It's easy to point fingers and accuse someone else of not doing their part.  To wonder if somehow we didn't do ours.  Self-doubt shouts in our ears that maybe we just aren't enough - not good enough, not smart enough, not savvy enough, not pretty enough, not thin enough, not righteous enough, not faithful enough, not generous enough.  We learn it from our parents and teachers and ministers and bosses - veiled in messages of "helpfulness" that really feel like criticism of our souls.   We wonder what we are doing wrong.

But sometimes life takes an unexpected detour.  Sometimes we stand face to face with difficult decisions that seem to have no good answers, no matter how hard we work.  And sometimes God, or the universe, or Tao or whatever energy is at work in this world pushes us in a direction we never intended to go.

It's hard to let go of well-laid plans.  It's scary to make a decision that requires a leap into the dark.  Often we scramble and bargain and deal to keep ourselves on the path that's already lit, even when we can see it's leading to some place we don't want to go.  Because it's easier to ignore the end of the path and focus on the next lit step than to stumble off into the unknown. 

But those old messages we've heard all our lives sometimes lead us astray.  They keep us on the well-lit path to nowhere.  They keep us bowed down to the gods of money and success and popularity.  They coerce us into bargaining away our souls in order to be socially acceptable.  They work us until we are weary and worn down, scrambling to achieve just a little more to be successful, to be good enough.

What if we could simply let go?  Let go of the old messages.  Let go of the measurements and yardsticks we use to define success?  Let go of the need to constantly work and worry?  Let go of the idea that we can do something to make everything okay?

What if we could let our hearts lead?  What if we valued soul and creativity as highly as security?  What if we could look at life's unexpected events as a gift and at taking a step into the dark as a grand adventure?

Is it as easy as changing our perspective?  Maybe.  I don't know for sure.  But I'm willing to give it a try.

Rain

A gentle rain, steady on the roof,
Ushering out the last of summer,
Soaking deep into the thirsty soil.

As I listen to the steady rhythm outside
my heart years to find it's own rhythm
and be watered deeply.

The rain says wait.  Stay warm and dry.
The sun will soon return,
but for now all nature needs to drink.

I too need to drink, to find the rhythm of the rain, to soak, to wait.
But still, I long for the sun.

Waiting

Waiting tests me, stretches my patience and gives rise to anxiety and doubt.
While I wait, the voices that question my responsibility, my contributions, my intelligence and even my sanity seem to grow louder.
Waiting on the unknown tenses my shoulders and knots my stomach and fogs my brain.
Little things become large.  Grains of sand in my shoes feel like sharp stones.
Indecision and uncertainty threaten to overtake clear thinking.
Wait and worry, worry and wait.

Yet, somewhere, deep down, I know better.
I know that this path I travel stretches out before me.
That by putting one foot in front of the other, before I realize it, around a bend a new vista will appear.
The road I'm traveling now is less treacherous than stretches I've traveled before.
And I have companions walking along with me, keeping my company - as we wait.

So, to bide the time and shake off this inertia I feel while waiting,
I'm making a list of things to do while I wait:

1.  Enjoy the down time without feeling guilty.
2.  Watch a movie alone, in the middle of the day.
3.  Read a book for the sheer pleasure of the words.
4.  Create something.
5.  Organize my music to make it more accessible and available.
6.  Remember.
7.  Declutter.
8.  Connect with friends.
9.  Drink an extra cup of coffee.
10.  Get outside and move.
11.  Garden.
12.  Nap.
13.  Spend one on one time with each of my girls.
14.  Meditate.
15.  Cook healthy meals.
16.  Write.
17.  Clean my house.
18.  Dream.
19.  Enjoy the silence.
20.  Breathe

Funny how I have to remind myself of these things and how the voices clamoring for attention rob me of my ability to focus and enjoy.  The waiting is a gift - if I can simply unwrap it.