“Why do we latch onto people, place and things when in fact what we ought to be doing is letting them go?” This question greeted me a few mornings ago upon awakening and has been with me ever since.
Once upon a time, a bit over a year ago, on an idyllic island in the Caribbean, a boy and a girl were re-acquainted in a rather surreal fashion. They had met some two years prior, under very different circumstances. On that particular day, as the boy approached, the girl re-coiled, busy with her present distraction of the moment – a charity event for inner city community kids that was going terribly wrong due to the lack of a clear, shared vision amongst the organizers.
This latest encounter however seemed to be one that provided the ideal fodder upon which they could both feed.
So off they went, bonded by their traumas with each giving the other permission to act out their deeply wounded inner child respectively. Uncontrolled vulnerability was the name of their present game. Despite obvious opposites the deeper currents that flowed between them were captivating and magical.
No sooner had they joined forces, the girl, in pursuit of her passion for the attainment of world peace, was yet again being snatched up and whisked away, far, far away.
As I lay in bed with my broken ankle propped up on several pillows, I wondered to myself, why was this happening to me? Why was I destined to meet the [im] perfect person just as I was on the verge of heading off on this assignment? In addition to breaking my ankle just days prior to my deployment, was the meeting with this kindred soul yet another divine sign for me to stay put and give my heart and soul a rest from chasing lofty rainbows?
In spite of the waterfall of questions that swept over me, rather than attempt to answer them at that point, instead I chose to dive deeply into this body of emotion.
Or so I felt – at the time.
Somehow I’d managed to allude myself into believing that I was surrendering when in fact what I did, like someone in a tiny lifeboat struggling to keep afloat in turbulent and unpredictable waters, was to hang on for dear life.
Latching onto this relationship seemed like the ideal antidote to dilute the intensity of my upcoming assignment. And this approach worked, for exactly one year.
As the time for my contract expiration drew rapidly near, the anxiety of my need to hold on – to what, I’m still crying to figure that one out – took on epic proportions.
The unraveling to a large extent came quite unexpectedly. I can still taste the incident in my mouth.
It is 0400 hrs. in the morning and after yet another sleepless night I attempt what I have already pre-determined to be my final effort to make contact. As the answering machine clicks on, with the last thread of dignity and grace that I hold within, I leave a message about practicalities – a sheer veil for the rawness that lies beneath. I receive a response by e-mail shortly thereafter, one devoid of any compassion whatsoever for either of the two parties involved in this demise.
The rest of this story is buried in silence, at least for now.
It has been my repeated experience – aka pattern – that when establishing personal relationships with the other sex – that usually, very early in the game, he will reveal who he is on the emotional spectrum. Yet because of my own karmic upbringing and history, rather than listen to what I’m being told from a place of objectivity, my savior instinct latches onto his victim self and I embark upon my rescue mission. While the players may be different, the plot has essentially been the same for most of my relationship life.
Last night I dreamt of being re-united with my very first boyfriend. In the dream we’re at his house – which was around the corner from mine when we were growing up. There’s lots of activity buzzing around. I see first his parents, followed by his sister and then finally the eldest child, his brother. Vaguely I recall standing on a flight of stairs – possibly that led from the airplane in which he arrived. As we embrace, it is beyond apparent how thrilled we are to see each other. The conduit of love that flows between us is filled with a purity that awake and conscious, I now realize is perhaps what drew me to latch onto a situation that given the myriad of variables, I ought to have let go.
Life however cannot be lived in hindsight.
While the pieces of our puzzle may seem dis-jointed as they are unfolding and our hearts are breaking and our victims and egos are engaged in their own battle of wills, we come to realize that letting go is perhaps our only and healthiest option amidst times of uncertainty.
The beautiful irony of surrender is that it allows for the very gift that we were searching for in our holding on to manifest itself, naturally, beautifully and lovingly.
And so it is.