I didn’t participate in Tashlich, the Jewish New Year tradition of tossing bread crumbs into a body of moving water to symbolize releasing your transgressions from the year. I realized that, while I have always enjoyed this physical ritual of letting go, I no longer needed it. I hold no grievances or grudges or regrets because I practice making amends and letting go every day. And I didn’t know any of the people who would be there, so it wasn’t about connecting with community, either. So I didn’t go.
It was a little sad, not to feel the pull to participate, but there was no guilt or regret. Instead I felt I was honoring the letting go of something that I once loved and no longer resonated with.
I’ve been practicing this kind of letting go a lot these past two years. I’m learning that, just because I liked something once, doesn’t mean I have to keep liking it forever. I can give myself permission to walk away from people, classes, passions, anything that no longer serves me, without regret or apology to others or myself.
I did it when I no longer enjoyed going to call and response Kirtan after a year of regular attendance. I stopped playing Mahjongg with the ladies because they just didn’t get my sense of humor. I said goodbye to one of the first women I was friends with here because she irritated me more than any joy we shared when we were together. And I let go of weekly fried fish and chips. It wasn’t always easy, but it was always the right thing.
Last fall I attended the Community Song Circle at the local Universal Unitarian Fellowship. I enjoyed the energy of the leader, the people were welcoming, and what’s not to like about singing with others about love and hope and peace. Still, I left at the break, and didn’t go back.
I berated myself for using the excuse that 4 o’clock was too late in the day to go someplace to sing, and promised my social self that, when they started up again in the fall, I’d go back.
Last week I attended to the first Song Circle of the season. Yes, it’s wonderful that people are gathering to sing about love and hope and peace. But again, I left at the break. On the drive home I asked myself why I didn’t enjoy the experience.
I knew it wasn’t about the time of day. But sometimes, those petty excuses are there to get our attention, to invite us to explore a little deeper and see where the real resistance is.
As I thought about the experience, I realized that I felt like I had to tuck in and quiet my energy in that room, with my presence as well as with my voice. And it didn’t feel good. Yes, the people were nice, but they’re not my people. By the time I got home, I was congratulating myself for keeping my promise to myself and going, and for knowing it wasn’t right for me.
And now, in the letting go, there is this new, open space. It’s not empty by any means, but I can’t clearly see what it holds. Yet. And it’s a little uncomfortable. But I keep reminding myself that this is the in-between. And I’m here. Open and ready. And all in. Which is perfect timing because my six-month The Art of Storytelling From the Page to the Stage begins today!
From my open and ready heart to yours,
Is there something you’re ready to let go of? How can you give yourself permission?
P.S. Yesterday marked nineteen years since I had emergency open heart surgery to remove a rare, benign tumor from my left atrium. Everything that I am living today is because of that literal heart-opening experience.
You can read the full story, featured in my book Heart Sparks: 7 Practices For Loving Your Life if you click here. Then click or read through the Introduction to get to the Prologue: Break and Grow.
