Letting Go
“Attachment is the root of suffering” — Buddha
I’m staring at the blank wall in disbelief, mostly about what I’ve done and plan to do.
Periodically, I wriggle my body in discomfort on my makeshift bedding of layered blankets on the cold apartment floor. Every shuffle and frustrated sigh echoes in an empty room once roamed by my beloved pup and filled with my cherished books, artwork, clothing, and random shit I can’t quite remember.
My burning flame of determination had been smoldered into faintly glowing embers by an unfulfilling lifestyle, so I let everything go in a frenzy to condense my life into two suitcases and embark on a journey of redefining my personal and professional focus. Where will I go? Unlike my usual modus operandi, I loosely planned my destinations to make room for spontaneity, which makes this act all the more scary but exciting.
While part of me worries if breaking free of my things, the material stuff I worked hard for, is the right decision, a prominent part of me mourns having spent far too long transferring my worth to objects and unsavory people. I mourn because I have no idea who I am, devoid of all I once possessed. I was raised to believe that everything about me, my intrinsic value, is defined by my accomplishments, the money I make, the things I own, and the people I associate with.
When you’ve erased your progress toward a predefined pathway, how do you start over without anything but a mystified intuition? It’s hard to accept a boundless life trajectory without an inkling of foresight, mainly because we’re born into social systems that don’t prepare us for uncertainty but instead embed us as cogs predictably toiling away for manufactured rewards offering temporary relief from society’s indelible discontent. I suppose it’s easier to remain tethered to corporate cords of puppetry; however, with recent endless layoffs, we’re collectively learning that what may be the most accessible pathway in life doesn’t necessarily make it the most secure.
I acknowledge, amidst this emotional whirlwind, an upheaval of my life’s foundation, and pending family disappointment, that I am privileged to do what I am, seeking new building blocks to build the life I want to live — one void of excessively fugacious connections to people, places, and things based on lack. Although one could argue in my attempt to discover that moment of peace where everything clicks, I’m avoiding attachment, thereby living superficially.
Let me be clear: I want a healthy attachment from within myself and one centered on joy, authenticity, and abundance. I need to be sure that the value I hold for myself is immeasurable. I need to love who I am unequivocally, bear the wisdom to know what my soul needs, and have the courage to be my staunchest advocate. I could not make space for joy, rest, and exploration with how I was living. Those attachments were not the right ones for me. Instead, they were a veil of self-deceit beneath which I convinced myself that suffering is what makes us human.
So what will happen after my self-inflicted punishment of sleeping on unleveled concrete flooring? I don’t expect to stay at a particular place for too long, but I will make the most of every stay in each location, being present with the world in front of me. I want to pour my experiences into more fulfilling, mission-driven work. But this won’t be without trials and tribulations, all of which I am ready to face rather than live in hiding.
