This post is also available as a podcast here: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/s-p01/episodes/Letting-Go-e2eg78h

This is a good follow up to my “fix it” post. I struggle to let anything go. I talked about that in the last post. I cling to things, people, even moments. I have moments I want to hold onto forever. By “letting go,” I mean the intentional release of force. When it comes to things, this is just the choice of holding onto them when we no longer need them. When it comes to people, it’s bigger. People are not meant to be owned, people need autonomy and freedom to be themselves. So, when we hold onto people, we’re stifling them. I think it’s great to love someone, but it’s more important to let them go. At least when it comes to moments, we don’t have control. Moments pass without concern for our desires.

Letting go is something new-ish for me. I have had to let go in theatre every time we finished a show. I have had to let go in my work each semester when I have my last day of class and know I may never see these students again. I have had to let go when I moved and lost touch with people. What is hard is the intentional release of those people that I care about when my needs are infringing on theirs. I work so hard to be aware of this. I’m not perfect, though. None of us are. Sometimes I have unmet needs, and those unmet needs rear monstrous heads that cause me to put pressure on those close to me. I feel like I’m crying out in pain, like a wounded animal, when this happens. The responses make it sound more like I’m rearing up and growling like a bear, though.

So, slight derail here, but our needs are important. Recognizing our needs, naming them, and acknowledging them allows us to soothe that wounded animal inside. This is how we calm the bear and address our needs directly without attacking our people. We have to let go of the expectations that create the wounded animal inside. Those expectations, like expecting our partner to know our feelings, are precisely the things that create that dynamic. Acknowledging our needs and releasing expectations on those close to us allows us to “let them go.” Those expectations are not their responsibility, they’re ours.

Completely “letting go” of someone we’ve hurt is the hardest. They get to define whether we can share with them, not us. Apologies might help, but they don’t owe us anything for our apology. Love might help, but they don’t owe us anything for loving them. When they get hurt by us, it’s important to own it, but it’s more important to let them decide the consequences. If we have to let them go, it’s the deepest kind of pain, but we have to find a way. I write this as I’m still struggling to let go of people I’ve hurt. If I ask myself why this is so hard, I’d have to answer that it’s because it’s outside of my control. I can’t “fix” the problem, and that’s the worst kind of problem.

I love deeply, I connect with people deeply, and that means that when I hurt them: I hurt them deeply. My heart aches for every loss, but some are harder than others.

This week’s story is about my skydiving adventure when I turned 30.

I love heights. I love flying. So, when my cousin recommended a tandem skydive for my 30th birthday, I knew it was meant to be. I left my first husband a few months before my 30th birthday. We were just separate, not officially separated, or fighting. We had an intense conversation after my mini walkabout, and we both knew it was over. It was a rough period. I was in the midst of moving out for my academic job, to a new state. I was starting over in a new place, over a thousand miles from everyone I knew.

It’s so nice that we weren’t fighting. He came out to bring me the cats, he paid for my skydiving experience, and he tagged along for the adventure. We had a lot of fun that day, it was a nice “last visit” because the friendship between us was as good as ever. It was a farewell, and it was a very real “letting go” because we both were thrown out of an airplane strapped to a stranger. Tandem skydiving is something else. I got to chat with my diver, and experience something that welcomed me to my new state: a spectacular view.

For those that have never done this kind of experience, let me break it down. You put on a helmet, flight suit, etc. You are greeted by a stranger that is going to throw you out of a plane. They talk you through the basics. Then, you get on an airplane with a bunch of other people as insane as you are for going on this adventure. Your stranger attaches their suit to yours, and tightens it down until you are firmly pressed into them. For the record, you’re in front, because they have the parachute. Their face is right behind yours, which is helpful, because it’s the only way you’ll ever hear them in the air.

Then, when the plane reaches the appropriate altitude, each group pops out of the airplane, one at a time. As the passenger, I was required to grip my hands to part of the suit so I didn’t accidentally affect the jump. Then, they rock with you and countdown… to throwing you both out of a plane. You twirl a bit, take the position they instruct you to, and then get hit with the strongest wind of your life. You do everything you can to keep your mouth closed, but it doesn’t work. You’re gonna have dry mouth now.

After some crazy plummeting, your stranger opens the parachute. The force is strong as it slows your descent. They instruct you to keep your feet together and pike your legs – it’s kind of fun. The wind stops, and you’ve never heard such silence. It’s one of the most peaceful views you’ll ever experience… if you like heights, like I do. It was spectacular. Then, you float (okay, you’re still plummeting, but it feels like floating.) You feel like you’re flying, thanks to this crazy stranger with whom you’ve now shared a rather intimate experience. It’s wonderful. Then, as you approach the ground, you realize that you aren’t floating. Wow. The ground is coming up super quick, actually. Uhhhhh, oh right, he said feet together and out in front of you to stop. You graze along the ground, tearing up the dirt, until you end by sitting squarely in your stranger’s lap. Cheering. They disconnect you, and you have something akin to sea-legs. The adrenaline makes you feel happy and scared at the same time, but no matter what – the experience was worth it. That was my experience, it just felt more fun to write a “you” version, but your experience might be quite different.

Sometimes “letting go” means letting someone else take control. I’m pretty sure if I’d been in charge on that dive, I wouldn’t be here today because I wouldn’t have known what I was doing. Some things aren’t meant to be under our control.

Love and learn to let go, -S.