where's the off button?

I find myself with an unexpected block of time in which I’m free to simply sit and think. This doesn’t happen all that often, and my mind is uncertainly fumbling around with this agenda-less, purpose-less window of time.

I’ve discovered that I have somewhat taken on my mom’s habit of chronically doing things at all times – I say ‘somewhat’ because I am (thank goodness) still able to at least sit down and enjoy watching a movie in a completely relaxed, reclined position.. whereas my mom inevitably finds some project to work on whenever she sits down to “watch” a movie. Five minutes into a movie, she’s baked 8 dozen cupcakes and sewed a quilt.

Anyways, as I sit here with the freedom to let my mind wander off to do whatever it wants or go wherever it will go, I am distinctly aware of how much my brain has been trained to focus, to produce something, to not just sit in idleness. (Hence…the creation of this blog.) The concept of a blank mind discomforts me. Clearing my head so it has no direction, no pursuit of anything, no aim – even for a little while – seems not only pointless, but almost alien to my nature.

However, it makes me wonder. I question why I function this way. Is this merely how I was created? Is this how I’m supposed to be, always letting my mind roll, move, and turn things over? Or maybe this is a symptom of how my environment’s affected me. Does living in America often do this to a person – the land of productivity, efficiency, innovation, workaholics, the American Dream of single-mindedly reaching for more and more and more…?

Most of my blogs have ended with some attempt at answering questions or probing for a deeper understanding of whatever I’m experiencing. After all, that’s how we’re taught to write – you pick a topic or make an argument, then meld it to fit into the format of an introduction, body paragraphs, and a conclusion. (I’m doing it right this moment.)

Only, this time my ‘conclusion’ doesn’t really have any answers in it. No thrust of an argument, no hypothesis, no sweeping statement of why this is this or that is that. I’m just curious as to why my brain is always twisting and turning, constantly restless, forever reaching toward something or another. Why I can’t naturally grasp or embrace a deep sense of stillness and be OK with a mind that’s not in motion. Even when I pray, there’s no prolonged period of quietness or waiting for something; I’m continually seeking something out.

This isn’t to say I’m never a peace with things – I often am – but I just haven’t learned how to let my mind rest without an agenda, a goal, an inquiry. I have this hunch that there’s extraordinary value in the ability to sit and let things wash over you, instead of eternally chasing our waves of thought back and forth. I’m just not sure how to do it yet.

on letting go

The last year or two of this pseudo-grownup life has taught me plenty of lessons. I haven't been especially well-prepared for any of them, but I have managed to survive them all so far (keep your fingers crossed for me).

Recently, due to a variety of circumstances in (or surrounding) my life, I have been forced to deal with the tragic necessity of letting go. This lesson has included several different forms of letting go - there are many forms of moving on that we may have to face - specifically letting go of an era in my life that is passing, moving on from a role that shaped a big part of my identity for some time now, and witnessing friends who have to let go of important relationships.

Letting go is one of those exercises in life that we all abhor on different levels. It's not just change that frightens us, or simply an aversion to losing something or someone; it's the fear that when we move on from something (especially something we love), we are letting of a thing that is essential. We are afraid we may somehow become less than who we were previously, or that an irreplaceable element of our life has been forfeited forever. We anxiously wonder if we'll ever be able to find something or someone as good as, or better than, what we have left behind. To put it simply, we worry we cannot reach that level of happiness and contentedness we had before. [Sidenote: is contentedness a word? I feel like it should be, if it isn't.]

Honestly, the biggest part of this lesson so far has been that you don't always get the answers you want when you are being compelled to move on. As humans, we're kind of.. limited, to put it kindly.. when it comes to the hard questions we face when we have to let go. Why did they have to die now? Why do we have to move? Why don't they love me anymore? Why can't I work here longer? Why can't I stay in college forever and ever and ever...?

Seriously - who can answer this kind of question? [The staying in college question is the only one that may be answerable.]

There is so much we want to understand that we cannot fully grasp. Underlying all our cries for answers, however, there is one question that supercedes them all, one that touches the root of our real inquiry:

Why am I powerless to stop this?

That's the bitter root of the 'letting go' dilemma. We want so desperately to run the show that is our lives, and we cry foul if it starts to twist towards a different direction. We kick and we scream and we hurt - we hurt so much - because we're powerless to stop our life from changing course. We reach back and grasp for what we had, what's slipping away, and we won't let go until the pain of reaching back has exceeded the pain of moving forward.

Taking a step back and looking at this, I see it's a pretty bleak picture I've just painted. Well, letting go is pretty bleak sometimes. There's no point in sugar-coating it or pretending it's something that it isn't.

There are two big factors, however, that I haven't mentioned yet; two key parts to this letting go struggle. The first one is God, who, if you know me well, you know we're kind of tight. He has answers to questions I haven't even asked yet.. and I ask a lot of questions. He also has the slight advantage of knowing where my life's going, so He doesn't freak out when I have to let go of something in order to move on. The second factor is a gift from God - Time.

That super cliche, over quoted phrase "time heals all things" is sort of spot on. Getting that distance from something or someone you loved, but had to let go of, will eventually dull the terrible pain you felt. Time can give you a kinder perspective on things, and it helps you realize that you will make it through. You will survive this moving on process. Better yet, it helps you see that one day soon - after just a little more time has passed - you will be genuinely happy again.