Letting Go

I have spent the past week with my family, and it has got me thinking about letting go. Letting go can be hard. Letting go can be easy. Letting go can become a habit – if you’re game. If you’re not, letting go can be utterly terrifying.

My grandmother is getting older; in fact she just celebrated her 86^th birthday. I baked, of course. She is fast approaching, or recently passed, (depending on who you speak to) the point of safely living alone at home. On some level I think she knows it. She is afraid of losing her independence and what that might mean. Her fear comes across as nastiness.

I can understand her fear and her denial. What becomes of us when we cease to be what we value? What are we when our intelligence is failing and outdated; our peers deceased; our looks long faded; our family self sufficient and our contribution to the world are knitted blankets donated to charity?

How do we come to terms with letting go of our prime, our status, our jobs, our friends and our independence? What can stand the test of time and remain ours regardless of our phase in life? The only thing that I come up with is love.

Love. Love of ourselves. Love for those around us. Love for something greater perhaps. Love of the taste of a sweet strawberry. Love of the feeling of the sun on our skin. Love of the sight of a rose in full bloom. Love of the smell of fresh bread baking.

I see too much of my grandmother in me. I don’t want to have to fight so hard. To cling so tightly to my independence. To fear what it means to lose it. The alternative, for what I can see, is to focus on love and to let go of other temporary titles. I wonder what will be my final hurdle? What will I perhaps be clinging to in my old age? Will it be my partner, work, my children, responsibility, intelligence or independence? If I am lucky perhaps I will enjoy the simple pleasures of my twilight years instead of mourning the loss of my former glories. IF along the way I develop a saintly disposition and grace.

What will you be clinging to in 60 years?

True Family

My family is the centre of my life, but I don’t consider a’ nuclear family’ as my family. Don’t get me wrong – its a great starting point – it’s just not my definition of family. Family to me is far more fluid and subjective than DNA or marital status.

As I blogged recently is was my son’s first birthday at the end of June. In the end the day was a roaring success, mostly despite my planning. It was the people and the love that made the day so special.

On the day I found myself sitting alone  in the beautifully decorated living room (while the guests peopled the kitchen and yard – neither of which were decorated) meditating on my son’s experience. To him everybody there was ‘family’. He doesn’t discern between ‘blood’ aunts & uncles and my closest friends. To him every baby-boomer in the room was his grandparent. He doesn’t rank his affections based on whether the person is a member of his immediate or extended family and he doesn’t discriminate against friends.

Family are simply the people who love him. He favours those who support and serve him most. Those who wipe away his tears, change his nappy and provide lunch get the most cuddles.

Family is not a birth right nor should it be an obligation. Family is not just genes ans has nothing to do with geography. Family is a term used to describe a connection. A connection that compels us to consider the other’s needs, to support them in their joy and pain and to want to bear witness to their journey.

The litmus test: if someones presence in your home feels relaxed, effortless, comfortable then they are, by my definition, family.

My Birthday Lesson: The fancier you make the cake and decorations the higher the bar you have set to surpass next year =)

Memories

Have you ever noticed that the events that, by far, should be the happiest and most memorable usually aren’t? The nights out on the town that are planned and hyped up, flop. The weddings where the bride has merticulously planned every detail are remembered for the mismatched napkin rings and the bumbling priest instead of the joy. The special dates are overshadowed by fish and chips by the beach. The nights in swanky hotels and not as fun as crashing on the floor of a friends apartment.

Despite the many couples getaways I have had in swanky hotels my most memorable night with my partner was sleeping on the floor eating pizza the night we got the keys to our first apartment together. I looked forward to my Debutant ball for months (the equivelant to a senior prom) imagining it as a magical night with friends, family and my boyfriend. It was a huge disappointment; The dress didnt fit right, my hair was wrong, my boyfriend was a jerk (and spent most of his time with my ex!), the afterparty was a non event and the best part was McDonalds at Circular Quay afterwards. By contrast a ball that I spontaneously bought a table at and invited my friends to was magic, memorable and so much fun.

My baby turns 1 this week and I am terrified. I have been planning his First Birthday Party in my head for months. I have ordered lollies and decorations, I am making 3 different kinds of desserts, we have bought him a cute outfit, organised friends to play live music, invited our near and dear, written out a menu, we pick up helium balloons on Friday and I am getting my hair done so I look decent in photos that will be on display for the next 20 years at least. We are making a time capsule for him and a DVD of his life so far. And I am terrified.

I am scared that I have forgotten something, that the cakes don’t turn out, that the decorations don’t arrive, that the guests don’t get along, that the baby gets overwhelmed, that I am a bad hostess, that guests get lost on their way, that everybody buys him the same gift,  that he gets sick or has a bump on his head for the photos. But mostly I am scared that everything will go to plan and that the joy of the day will be overshadowed by showy cakes, balloons and presents.

Lesson: The best memories are made of substance; love, joy, connection, friendship, laughter, peace. We remember feelings not decorations, price tags or menus.

Family

I don’t write about family. Not because there is nothing to write about, but out of respect. My largest lessons to date were borne out of familial situations. Now I find myself in, what I consider to be, a generic family quandary. So I think its passable to write about it.

I was a bit of a rebel growing up. I quite enjoyed rocking the boat and had an opinion about everything. Like every teenager in the history of the universe I felt that I could never live up to the picture of me my family held in their minds. It was far too narrow a box to contain my exuberant spirit. Or so I thought.

In reality the box was not narrow at all. I was simply the family member least aware of how my actions affected my kin and the family dynamic. My oblivious state made their (reasonable) expectations seem soul crushing.

Now the shoe is on the other foot. I am painfully aware of how every-body’s actions (or inaction) affects the other family members, individually and collectively. Including my own.

My Challenge: To have compassion for the spirited individual whilst championing and serving the collective.