Letting Go with Intention

Today I offer my initial reflections on our navigating a major life change and embracing the complexity of emotions this entails.

My journey through liminal space continues. The pace of our transitioning between continents is that of a snail. And for the time being, that still feels mostly okay, even as the days on the calendar whizz by, as they have been for many months, even years, now.

Our date for moving keeps shifting further into the future. And yet I have every confidence we’ll get from here to there.

My honey and I are working as a splendid team to sell many of our cherished mementos found and collected over the 38 years of our togetherness. He takes and processes the photos of each item; I create the collages, post them for sale, and negotiate with buyers; and he packs for delivery.

This part is all easy-peasy and we delight in being together and going through this process together—interspersed with the occasional squabble, of course (LOL).

In almost every culture, there are rites of passage and rituals for the significant events in our lives. Birth, school graduations, marriage, and death are probably among the most common ones.

Rituals, anthropologists will tell us, are about transformation. The rituals we use for marriage, baptism or inaugurating a president are as elaborate as they are because we associate the ritual with a major life passage, the crossing of a critical threshold, or in other words, with transformation.

Abraham Verghese

But there doesn’t seem to be a ritual for major moves, and certainly not for one like ours that involves divesting of almost everything we have accumulated and lived with for over three decades—and hey, not only things, but more importantly, deep friendships, networks, and communities.

(There are also the inevitable changes and emotions to be faced on the destination side, but those I set aside to think and feel—and perhaps write—about much later. Fortunately for me, there is no fear about that now to muddy further the emotions I feel on this end.)

As we handle our more sentimental pieces, we pause to admire them once (or twice) again and reminisce (or break our brains trying to remember) where we found or bought them. There are so many stories and we laugh often. Our love and abundant joy flow freely.

That is our own ritual. I am fully present throughout the process, and I can feel the complex set of emotions this progression brings on.

It seems to me to be vital to do this at our own pace, without stress, without rushing. In going about it intentionally like this, I can “let go” without denying or dodging my sadness over the losses, large and small.

We’re taught to think in binaries, to believe that something is either true or false, right or wrong, good or bad. While this kind of this or that thinking can be useful in certain contexts, it can also be detrimental to how we approach life and our own emotions.

Take, for example, this phrase “learn to let go,” which is a skill I’ve learned to do particularly well. It’s often seen as a wise piece of advice. And yet, even letting go needs to be approached with care and intention.

“Let go” implies (in part) that we’ll do better to move on from things that don’t serve us; that we don’t look back or dwell on the past. But what about situations where we need to process our emotions and work through our pain before we can truly let go? Sometimes, holding onto something for a little while longer can actually be the healthiest thing we can do for ourselves. And that’s indeed what I aim to do.

“Let go” also stands directly opposite to another common wise phrase: “never give up,” which encourages us always to persevere, no matter what, not to stop three meters before we hit gold. Yet it’s easy to think of situations where it’s actually sounder to walk away, to recognize that something isn’t working and move on. Sometimes, giving up on something that isn’t serving us is the bravest thing we can do.

Almost every common phrase contains within it the possibility of an equally true opposite. Life is rarely as simple as we’d like it to be.

The opposite of a correct statement is a false statement. But the opposite of a profound truth may well be another profound truth.

Niels Bohr

A binary either/or approach can be especially inadequate when it comes to our emotions. We’re taught to believe that we can only feel one thing at a time, that we can’t be happy and sad, or angry and grateful, or any combination of emotions at once.

But the reality—and certainly my experience of it—is that we’re wired to feel multiple emotions at the same time.

There are moments when I look at some lovely piece of vintage furniture we’ve lived with for a long time and feel sad, heavyhearted, to have to sell it. And still my honey can bring up a memory or tell me a story that has us both belly laughing, giving us joy in the moment.

Looking back in years, there were times I was furious with my honey about something he did or didn’t do; yet still I felt grateful to him in other ways. I’m reminded of this cute yet meaningful cartoon (I didn’t find to whom to attribute it):

I’m sure I’m not alone in this. These kinds of conflicting emotions are a natural part of being human.

So, what’s the alternative to binary thinking and feeling?

It’s a more nuanced and discerning approach to life. It’s recognizing that there are very few absolutes in this world, and that most things exist on a spectrum—in the long stretch of gray between the black and white.

It’s looking at ideas and thoughts as both/and instead of either/or.

It’s understanding that we can hold conflicting emotions simultaneously, and that this doesn’t make us weak or confused. It’s knowing that there are times to hold on and times to let go, and that this is a decision that we need to make based on our own unique circumstances.

The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

And so the downsizing and offloading continues. We carry on with the ritual: tending to the “stuff” and to my fluctuating emotions with care and self-compassion. We are neither gone nor have we arrived. And I’m making the best of being in this liminal space, even if it is damn messy.

Have you had occasion to develop your own ritual for a life transition? How do you handle a muddle of feelings?

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