The art of letting go

didn't fall
Originally uploaded by c'estbonne

Oak leaves, it seems, adhere steadfastly to their branches until the new growth forces them off in the spring. Hmmm, that sounds familiar. I've been forced to budge more than a few times myself, clinging to the "safe" well beyond the time for new budding.

Of course, trees don't have fears or emotional vulnerabilities or skills at self-sabotage. They don't complain or procrastinate, or create myriad reasons in their thick-barked minds as to why they're better off staying where they are. The beauty of trees is that they simply are, and they do what comes naturally and what makes sense for them, and what will support their future health.

Humans, on the other hand, are much more complicated. Not only do we have thoughts to tangle ourselves up in at will, the moment we stop being conscious of them; we have insecurities, false beliefs, and many, many choices we're responsible for making. We have the terrifying option of free will. We have mobility, intelligence, the internet, and the need for an income. We can have pets, have children, have neither. We can go to school or go to work--or not. We can change our hair color or our fashion. We can be religious or agnostic, kind or cruel, irresponsible or conscientious, Democrat or Republican. So many choices...

Of course, most of us don't think about all these choices. We just stumble on into life and let things happen, or assume what we do next must be what we want. Sometimes it is, sometimes it turns out it isn't. By the way, we also have the power to make new choices--but we must bear the consequences of the ones we've already made.

In the end, it is probably only the thinkers, or over-thinkers like myself, who notice and become somewhat immobilized in the face of all this freedom. More than once, I have actually wanted to be a tree--to have a simpler life on the side of a quiet mountain, listening to the soft music of wind, watching the seasonal life cycles of squirrels and deer around me, hosting a bird family or two, and just being at peace.

But my job here, my responsibility, is to find peace in my own life. To not be afraid of my freedom, or overwhelmed by it, or lulled into having or being less than I want by the false seduction of unworthiness. My job is to let go of, to surrender, the clutter of false feelings and doubts and thoughts that exist presumably to keep me safe, but that in reality keep me captive. My job is to live.

So, by God, let's do it.