The Notes on The Spectrum covers this chapter: Again, To Let Go
I can learn to do less. To let things fall apart that are not under my control. People are never under our control. I am controlling little more than my actions and words. All else, I must give up for Lent. Give up to God. Give no more room in my head.
Pushing the river never works. The river of life flows with chill and power. Any attempts for a man to stop the river, move the river, push the river into a new lifestyle… The zen koans write themselves.
A student asked,
“How do I hurry my awakening?”
The master handed him a stick and said,
“Go push the river downstream.”
When the student returned, soaked and exhausted, the master asked,
“Did the river move?”
The student said, “No.”
The master said, “Then why did you?”
I am trying to push the river again. With my daughter, too. Certainly, my son needs some push. Work at the store has demonstrated the concept more fully than I have ever encountered in work. I was told within two weeks that I was seen as a candidate for supervisor. I was awarded several employee of the week awards. But in the river of the corporate organic grocery machine, I am but a cashier, a cog, a ghost in the machine. I call the self-checkout lanes where I spend a good bit of my time, “dances with robots.”
What if… How about I sit beside the river? In the Brené Brown world of Braving, I will sit beside you while you go through this. I can’t take it on. I can’t make it better. I can hold your hand, rub your feet, offer you a cup of tea.
Learning not to take on the problems of others, even our children, is an ongoing lesson as an adult. I want to give, help, understand, and empathize. Often, what is more helpful is to listen. Don’t respond, don’t offer advice, just be present in their time of need. If they ask for help, ask for advice, engage cautiously and consciously. The goal is to reflect and support their pain. Do not take it on. It is not your burden to carry.
Emotions are the hardest to let go of for me. I am sad occasionally when my kids play hard to get. My daughter has been on a 3-day binge of not responding to comms of any kind. Photos, voicemails, memes, and even “what the fucks” are not getting a response. That’s unkind of her. I will tell her it pained me. She will do whatever she wants to do. Her response will be, I’m busy. Um… Yeah, we’re all busy. It’s a choice. Priorities are set by you.
People do exactly what they want when allowed to. In the case of my son, I cannot make him go to bed at a reasonable hour. I can suggest it, I can demonstrate it, I can make the gaba available. He’s going to larp into the night as a faux mercenary. He is going to do whatever he wants, regardless of what I say. Often, in opposition to any ideas I offer. He’s doing whatever the fuck he wants. Only when he realizes the consequences are painful and of his own making. At the moment, he’s still in a fuge state.
“Sleep correction after November 31st,” he offered this morning. And, “I’m going to move this last rifle to the shed.” He’s added more scopes and lights and whatnots just for fun. When I got up this morning at 4 am, he was in the garage with his headlamp on and the rifle in his hand. He looks like a foreign fighter in my fucking garage. He easily accepted the request not to bear arms inside the house.
It is my responsibility to ask for what I need. Set boundaries for my house and my own sleep hygiene. I can remain supportive, even when I don’t agree with a lot of his decisions. I can give him some time to sort the drug thing. I can be present and safe for him, no matter what. Well, within limits. For today, no guns in the house.
The most urgent river I’m observing is the job with the medical association. We’ve been talking since October.
I take great comfort in this response. The organization is slow-moving. There is little urgency in securing me, if they are taking so long. That could be good for me. Go slow. Don’t push the river. Stay beside the stream. Observe. Listen. Wait.
Another lesson of the river, patience. The force and weight of the water is a fact. My efforts must be aligned with the river, swim with the current, sit on the bank and quiet my mind. Water is important in my life, both as a metaphor and as a tonic. My hot tub is a daily tonic. I think the cold plunge of Barton Springs is calling me to shake things up. I haven’t been in a few years.
Nighttime on the banks of Barton Springs, in Austin, Texas is a very spiritual experience if you are tuned that way. At 8 pm the pool is free for one hour. It is quiet. A few couples, families, and loners like me. Some on the banks meditating or chatting. Some deep in the water, swiming with goggles and nice strokes. Me, I like to observe and listen.
The water is a shock when I finally dive in. Painful. Envigorating.
I have to enter the river. I have to feel the pain and hopelessness of at my lack of control. The river absorbs my pain, my worries, my impatience. You can’t be impatient when shivers are ripping through your body, redirecting all power to the survival systems. Everything in my body tries to bargain and keep me from jumping in the frigid water. I go anyway. I am marginally in control. Of my body, of my plunge, I am decisive. In. Yelp. Out. Dry off on the sloping lawn. Watch the beauty of nature in water and human communion.
Again, to let go. Let. Go.
Let the fuck go.
Jump in. Release the heat, release the outcome, release your own pain and anguish. Reboot your entire heating and cooling system. Feel the energy and potency of your body’s thermogenic response. I guess my hot tub is some form of this, in reverse.
