If one more person tells me to “let it go,” I swear I’m going to pull my hair out!
There. I said it.
After decades of meditation, spiritual inquiry, and sitting with some extraordinary teachers, I’ve come to a rather startling conclusion.
I think I need a recess.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my spiritual journey. It’s been the grand adventure of my life. I’ve learned so much about being present, accepting what is, surrendering, and yes, letting go.
But somewhere along the way, I wonder if I began taking this whole spirituality business a little too seriously.
You know how it goes. We’re supposed to be peaceful, compassionate, patient, understanding, and accepting. We’re supposed to observe our thoughts without judgment, allow our feelings, and surrender to whatever life brings.
And for heaven’s sake, we’re supposed to LET IT GO!
Sometimes I feel as though I’ve enrolled in a spiritual graduate program with no graduation date.
Naturally, Lady Uppity has a question.
“Excuse me, but is having fun on the spiritual curriculum? Because I don’t recall seeing it.”
Good question, Lady U. Very good question.
Recently, I spent a week in the company of a three-year-old little girl who may have taught me more about being present than a dozen spiritual workshops.
This child commanded the room. Not in a bad way. She was simply, gloriously, completely herself.
When she was happy, she played. Toys, books, whatever caught her attention. When she was hungry or thirsty, she asked for something to eat or drink. When she didn’t get what she wanted, she cried, sometimes producing the loveliest little pout I’ve ever seen.
And then something else caught her attention, and off she went.
She didn’t need to process her disappointment, examine her attachment, or spend twenty minutes figuring out how to let it go.
She was simply present with whatever she was feeling.
One morning, we all went out for brunch. Her mother ordered macaroni and cheese, which she loved. But sitting still in a chair? Not so much.
Fortunately, we were upstairs and had the room to ourselves.
So she ran up and down the room, stopping occasionally to take another bite of macaroni and cheese before racing off again.
She was having a wonderful time.
And when she was tired, she curled up with her mother and rested.
Now, before you start imagining some angelic little being floating through life in a state of perfect bliss, let me assure you that spending a week with a three-year-old is completely exhausting!
But here’s what struck me.
She wasn’t trying to be a better three-year-old.
She wasn’t judging herself for being frustrated, congratulating herself for being happy, or wondering whether she was sufficiently evolved.
She was simply being three.
And I began to wonder when we grown-ups decided that being spiritual meant we had to be peaceful, accepting, and understanding ALL THE DANG TIME.
Maybe somewhere along the way, I confused spiritual growth with growing out of being human.
I don’t want to abandon my spiritual practices. They’ve brought enormous richness and meaning to my life. Even my daily walk has become a prayer, each step an expression of gratitude to the earth beneath my feet.
But perhaps I don’t have to turn every lovely experience into a spiritual lesson.
Maybe sometimes I can just enjoy a massage because it feels delicious. Or get a manicure because I love having pretty nails. Or laugh until my sides hurt without wondering what lesson the laughter holds.
Maybe joy doesn’t need to be earned, explained, or turned into another opportunity for enlightenment.
I’ve spent years learning how to be present.
Perhaps it’s time I remembered how to play.
And if anyone tells me to let it go, I think I’ll go out for macaroni and cheese instead.