Let Go

I consider myself a tried and true connoisseur of what it is to 'let go'. There have been numerous experiences in my life that have required me to uproot, to grieve, to give in to what is, to simply let go . . . with grace, with anger, with love, with full consciousness of the process. Full surrender.

These past few weeks I have been locked in a familiar cycle in my life. One where I sit with a constant question mark regarding a big decision. And this one constant question mark for this one big decision has been reflected in my diet. I gain ground in the deep nurturing of myself, and then I feel myself slide back a few feet. I resolve to be more clean and mindful in my choices, and I find myself binging on sweets. I recommit to movement, only to find that getting out of bed in the morning is becoming more and more of an arduous task. I reframe it. Shift my attention. Inquire and reflect. And still the cycle is present.

This past weekend I was with a group of women that I connect with every month or so. We build a fire together and move into a sweat ritual. Afterwards we share an amazing potluck, and often, many of us spend the night and share breakfast and soulful conversations the next morning. After leaving this space on Sunday evening, I felt myself drawing into myself - luxuriating in the sense of comfort and peace I felt in my body, and noticing that my cravings had subsided and that preparing dinner was a simplistic and grounding affair.

Then Monday came and I was tossed into the work week. It wasn't that all of my sense of grounding and peace had been lost, it was that I recognized my supreme resistance and fear of what the work day requires of me - being attached to my computer for most of the day, putting aside the things I am passionate about until the work day is over, being pushed out of my own natural rhythm, and being exposed to constant interruptions and conversations that grated against my open-hearted nature. By the end of the day, I felt as though I had been completely sizzled by an electrical current, and I had managed to eat my way through a small pile of cookies. I was so tired that I went to bed at 9 PM, and still struggled to get out of bed the next morning. The same thing happened yesterday. With the same result this morning. It was 15 minutes before it was time to leave for work and I was still under the covers resisting the start of my day. It is so rare that I feel this way, that when I do, I recognize it is a flashing red light for me to pay attention to.

And it is the message that is hard to sit with - I no longer am willing to live the fullness of my life at the edges of my day - to schedule in time for my grad school work, creations, coaching, and otherwise as something to fit into two hour time slots before I go to bed. I have been so very thankful for my work of the last two years and the stability it has created in my life, and I have also grown to the ceiling of what is possible. Without a substantial change in my role and responsibilities that meets what it is that I'm here to do in this world, my time here will draw to a close sooner rather than later. 

Sometimes when you hit the same wall over and over again . . . it isn't about 'doing it better' or 'differently'. Sometimes it is that moment when you have to slowly begin to open your heart to your truth, and create the foundation for which to let go. Sometimes it is not you that needs to be uprooted, but rather something in your life that is no longer nourishing you.

Begin it now, as Goethe would say.

Let go, as I would say.

'No'

I have been pondering and practicing lately, the use of the word 'no'. As it relates to my 108 day commitment, the priorities in my life, and my needs. There isn't a word more powerful than this simple two letter word . . . and yet, we are so very hesitant to use it . . . or so overtly dominant with our use of it.

'No' this past week has been wrapped around clarifying what is most important to me in my life - where my dreams and goals lie, and what I am being called to do, speak, let go of. 'No' has led to a different rhythm in my movement. 'No' has carved out more time for my graduate school work. 'No' has helped me to see the friendships that aren't really serving my wholeness. 'No' has even given me permission to eat a cookie.

Did your eyes just come to a screeching halt on that last sentence?

It's true. One of the things that I am learning, is that a strong 'no' equals a strong 'yes'. In other words, if you aren't able to fully say 'no' with all of your being, then you're also not really ever fully saying 'yes' with all of your being. So in weeks past . . . as I've sidled up to the lunch table to look at all of the glorious and yummy treats that the kitchen has prepared for the staff, I've been sitting on the fence with my choices. 'You shouldn't really have that.' (An almost 'no'.) 'You can have that but you'll need to eat really healthily for the rest of the week.' (An almost 'yes'). And then, regardless of which committee voice in my head I go with, I never feel fully satiated with my choice. Because I have never quite made the choice. And therefore never truly felt the strength found within making a distinct choice.

But it's not just about a cookie. That could be so many choices from my entire life.

Except this week, it was about a cookie. So I started there. I have many reasons to want a cookie - I'm a chocolate-lover. I don't keep sweets in the house. The cookies that the kitchen makes are incredible. It's free. Everyone else around me is eating them. It's comforting. And many reasons not to - I don't know what the ingredients are. The sugar content is much higher than what my body truly appreciates. The wheat flour leaves me feeling a bit bloated. Sometimes I feel sleepy after having one. I'm still letting go of the few pounds that I put on in the deep winter. So.Many.Reasons.

After having become more clear in the past few weeks about the root of 'why' I was reaching for certain foods that were not so nurturing for me, I found myself making a different choice. Food is medicine. There is deep wisdom in that. And sometimes, that medicine is a placebo. There is a particular experience in my life right now that I'm working my fingers through - an old and deep pattern that has been showing itself quite regularly. And for many weeks, I was unconsciously tamping it down with treats. In part, because my movement routine had shifted and I wasn't being as active as I had previously been. Thus, one of my tools was not being used well. So I was compensating with food as medicine . . . as a placebo.

The past two weeks, that has slowly changed, and I am in a good rhythm with movement and understanding what my body needs and wants to navigate the uprooting of this patterning, and the transitions and transformation that are coming in growing through it. As a result, I've been much more mindful of the food that I have been eating. Because when I move regularly, I require a completely different set of energy from my food in order to sustain. So when I came to the lunch table this week, and filled my plate high with vegetables, rice, and some protein, I also didn't hesitate to snag a cookie as well. With a wholehearted 'hell YES!'.

How did that change anything? Well, for one, I enjoyed that cookie like it was the first and last cookie I would ever have in my entire life. AND, I also truly and deeply enjoyed the wholesome nature of my lunch as well. I also didn't feel a need to stop at the store on my way to/from work for a treat. My 'no' was much more clearly in place, as was my 'yes'.

What if I could take that same principle and apply it everywhere in my life? If I chose only to engage in activities, opportunities, friendships, and relationships, that came from a place of a strong, 'yes'. And wasn't hesitant to say 'no' fully and deeply when it didn't fit with what would feel and be the best for me, in this moment?

What if you chose to do that as well? How would that change your life?

Permission

How are you?

I'm fine.

How are you?

I'm fine.

We play this game everyday . . . many times over . . . with people that we know and people that we don't. Having worked in the same organization for almost two years, I've started to shift this question.

Tell me something about your day that feels exciting to you.

What feels brilliant in your world?

And after a chuckle, their eyes sparkle. And usually they do have something brilliant or exciting to share.

Why does this matter? Why did I arrive home on a Tuesday night and decide that 'this' was what I needed to write about? Perhaps because I was reflecting on a group conversation that I had recently. We were all sharing how things in our lives were moving along. There was a lot of excitement and 'aha!!!' in the air. And everyone was commenting on how they were being buoyed by the joy and light that they felt coming through as each person shared.

And when it came time for someone else in the group to share, there was hesitance. And the first words out of her mouth were an apology, for 'being a downer'. We fell silent and listened to what was alive for her, and after she had finished, the tone of the conversation changed, as others stepped up to share some of the more tender things that were sitting closer to their heart. The things that lay on that thin line of vulnerability - that reminds us we are human, and that life can have incredibly difficult moments . . . that turn into incredibly difficult days and weeks. You could feel the heart strings of the individuals in this group drawing closer - circling in to nurture those places with each other. It was palpable.

When everyone had finished sharing, I reflected back to them that this too, was an opportunity to be buoyed. Because one brave soul had offered the truth of her emotions - because she had given herself permission to feel something that was authentically hers . . . she had also given each of us permission to do the same. And that permission had woven us together intimately in those few shared moments. There was nothing to apologize for. Nothing to be wrong about. Nothing that was a 'downer'. In fact, in some ways, the depth of that share left us richer and more engaged in the fullness of our hearts. The flavor of life - and of all that we love and long for - had become more robust in its experience.

It had become an opportunity to reflect. And to connect.

Perhaps if our greeting to each other were different . . . if we spent a moment with each other asking for what was real. Willing to open to what was real within ourselves. Perhaps it would turn the world on its axis. Shift our perceptions of isolation. Feed our hungry hearts.

Perhaps.