The other night I was taking a yin yoga class with Felicia Tomasko over at YogaGlo. I love so many things about her classes, and I especially love her yin classes. This one in particular was focused on detox, so lots of twists and long, long holds (languid, as she likes to describe them).
During one twist she said, “What you let go of is as important as what you take in.” She was specifically talking about breath, about exhaling, but it struck me as being very important in a much bigger way, and a way that is certainly relevant for me. You too, maybe.
As a person who has historically had an impossible time with conflict, especially with saying no, I don’t want that, I have found myself with an accumulation of relationships over the years — like we all do. During my childhood, when we moved every few weeks, I remember explicitly thinking that it didn’t matter about that person because we’d just be moving soon. And so I both learned that as a strategy, and simultaneously never had to learn how to stick with people and work things out. No need! Moving on, moving on, moving on.
Since the beginning of 2013, I’ve ended two friendships, the only two times in my life I’ve done that. Both relationships were toxic and quite bad for me, and in both cases I ended them completely, without equivocating. The two women involved made it very easy for me, and I’m grateful for that. I’ve never been able to end any relationship directly and so it was good that the need and reason were both so loud and clear.
And now, in the wake of the wide-ranging changes that have been happening with me over the past year, I find that I am listening to what people say in a different way. I am hearing them, hearing their actual words. I even kind of hear them in real-time, instead of a split second later which is how I used to hear them if I heard them at all. With a time lag, I’d realize what had just been said and my moment felt lost, the moment to say What? What did you just say to me?!
It’s not like this change is an easy one, necessarily, because it means I’m more likely to face a moment when I need to challenge what someone says, in that moment, and I’m not very skilled at that. (Plus, it’s scary. With only one very recent exception, most people lash out if you say something they don’t want to hear, turn the tables and blame the other. I need to remember my recent exception to this and let it hold weight.) And if I listen carefully to what people say to me, and there are enough instances of a certain kind, it may be that I need to let relationships go. There is only one current relationship I have that feels wobbly in this specific way, and I’m certainly not itching to throw gas on anything, or make a problem where none really exists, but I am hearing what she says.
It’s worth thinking about. What you let go of is just as important as what you take in. I don’t have trouble letting go of stuff; my life taught me all about that. I let go of place pretty easily, for better and for worse equally. The events of my life have taught me pretty loudly that nothing lasts forever, that it’s all, every last bit, going to change, transform, perhaps disappear in the way I have it. I haven’t yet faced a loss within myself that is grievous—all my limbs work painlessly, my senses all work, the most important organs are just pumping along without a problem, my mind works well enough—so dealing with the ordinary losses of aging have been easy to accept. Looking ahead to the losses I’m likely to face as a consequence of aging is a waste of now, and luckily now has become my favorite place to be.
Felicia’s comment about the importance of what you let go is surely about the things we choose to let go, like relationships that aren’t good, work that is crushing, habits that hurt. Since life feeds up a banquet of letting go of things we don’t want to let go of, perhaps the critical corollary is How you let of things is just as important as everything else.
You grieve. You acknowledge. You honor. Perhaps you find some kind of ritual. You understand the place of the loss in the scheme of things, yourself, your life, the world. You cherish and then you open your hands. You discover who you are without it, you discover who you are now, and you allow time for that to settle. In the perfect world, the one I hear about and only make the tiniest visits to, that’s how you let go of things. But it’s always worth the effort, I do believe, and the effort may take a very long time, a number of passes, some forwarding-and-backwarding. You understand that maybe it’s a process, not a one-time-only deal, a one-stop-shop.