Holding On. Letting Go.

I sensed that she had me rumbled. Why couldn't I admit the truth? 

It doesn't make any sense to breathe in but not breathe out again. Or to drink, without later passing water. Letting go is 50% of the basic rhythms of life. Why then, can it be hard to let go?

Attachment to possessions

In later life, my Dad became a problem hoarder. His once spacious maisonette filled with boxes until they reached shoulder height. There were narrow alleyways for crossing rooms. Some boxes contained artefacts from his travels, especially in his beloved Spain. Most had papers and books from his teaching career, or relating to his varied interests. Psychology. Photography. Astrology. I'm not an extreme hoarder, but I have sometimes feared that I might take after my Dad. So, when clothes moths emerged in our house this spring, I was resistant to doing what needed to be done. That is, a drastic clear-out of the house. We needed to get rid of the things the moths love. Among a host of other objects destined for the tip was a beloved woollen rug; subtle but warmly multicoloured. I could feel the attachment tugging at me! But I knew it had to go. Items with no relation to moths got drawn into the big sort-out. I noticed how many things I have hung on to because I associate them with an old friend or family member. Yet, whatever heart-connections exist for me, I know that they don't rely on objects. With every trip to a charity shop or the tip, I felt a growing freedom. It felt good to be letting go. It took the moths to make me do it. Thank you moths! 

Attachment to being in the right

I've been noticing recently when I exaggerate or minimise. This happens when I want to be seen in a good light. To be in the right - at least in appearances. Sometimes this promotion of the ego is subtle. Sometimes blatant!

I was walking with a friend recently in a nature reserve. Attempting a shortcut, we branched onto a narrow path alongside a chalk stream. I'd been down it before and knew that it led to a locked gate at the other end, with a 'no public access' sign. But people had been cutting through: you could see the track where they had squeezed past the locked gate. As my friend and I ventured down this unofficial path, we met some volunteers involved in a restoration project. One of them challenged us, pointing out that the path was not open to the public. I heard myself saying "I'm sorry, I didn't realise". Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew that they were not true! The volunteer did not look impressed: I sensed that she had me rumbled.

Why couldn't I admit the truth? Because I didn't want to look bad. My inner spin-doctor had jumped into action. The irony being that telling an obvious lie was not, at all, a good look. I felt squirmy. 

How many pointless arguments have I had in my life because I wanted to be right? Too many! I don't think I am alone in this. Yet when I let go of the need to be right, I also let go of unnecessary stress.

Holding on and relinquishing

Attachment and letting go are two ends of a spectrum. According to Buddhist teachings, attachment gives rise to suffering. It is the opposite of freedom. So, I am testing the theory that letting go leads to happiness. Certainly, getting rid of a bunch of material things has left me feeling lighter. And yes, happier. (Even though our house remains far from resembling a Zen temple!) Had I let go of my reluctance to be seen in a bad light, my interaction with the volunteer might still have been awkward in the moment. But being honest would have left less of a bad taste.

Letting go in body and mind

Mindfulness practice flags up areas of holding on. In so doing, it supports the capacity to let go. We may become aware of holding tension in the jaw, shoulders or stomach. We learn to gently turn towards sensations of tightness; to breathe and soften into areas of tension. We notice repeated thoughts and underlying feelings. We may be inwardly scrolling through an imagined list of worries, or ruminating on the faults of someone we're not getting on with. Becoming aware of such activities in the heart and mind is the first step. We learn to open with curiosity to the whole range of feelings and thoughts. Sometimes we notice underlying beliefs that create suffering. "I'll never be good enough!" "I won't try because I'm bound to fail". [Insert an undermining belief of your own]. When we notice and allow experiences, they are free to unstick; to move on. In small and large ways, we can let go.

A life in two parts

I once read a theory that divided human life into two halves. The first half being about building things up: skills & career; relationships & family; material security. And the second half - you've guessed it - being a progressive relinquishing of what we have accumulated. Of course, building up and letting go are relevant at every stage of life. A five-year-old forgets about their four-year-old toys. And we may learn new skills later in life. But as a broad theory, I see some truth in this pattern. Aging obliges us to let go of activities and capabilities. We can let go with a measure of grace, or kicking and screaming. When my Mum died at 99, she could no longer walk or speak. Extreme old age had forced her to let go of almost everything. This was painful for me to witness. Yet at times there was a quality of something like grace. Or perhaps radical acceptance. Maybe this allowed a preparation for death - the ultimate letting go. At the end, there was a profound quality of release as she passed away. I sensed that letting go freely and fully gives rise to deep peace and joy. One day it will be my turn to slip away. It seems wise to reduce my habits of holding on before my time comes.