I got my first pet when I was about 4 or 5 years old. It was a blue budgie called Peter and I loved him with the ferocity that only little kids know. I would spend hours watching him, talking to him, cleaning his cage and caring for him. Everyday I would faithfully change his water and give him new seed. And everyday, as I approached his cage to give him his food, he would jump down from his perch and try to guard his seed container for fear that I was taking his food away.
The thing was, it was really hard to give Peter fresh seed while he was so determined to protect what he already had. He couldn't know that I wasn't taking his food away. He couldn't know that something fresh was waiting. He just knew that someone was reaching for what was his, so he held on tighter.
The older I get, the more I realise that life is really a series of holding on and letting go. There is a balance to not holding on for too long and not letting go too soon.
I remember the first few months of new motherhood, hopelessly tired and raw in the vulnerability of having no idea what I was doing (this was hard for someone who had always considered herself to be intelligent and extremely independent). I recall clinging desperately to the times when my daughter and I would finally get into some sort of pattern with feeding and sleeping and for a moment I would breathe out and think “actually, I’m doing okay. I’ve got this” ….. These moments were inevitably short lived as our routine was turned on its head with the introduction of solids, the dropping of naps and all the other progressions our babies make. But I struggled with it. I met the changes to our routine full of resistance. Finally, two things happened - it occurred to me that it wasn’t actually about me and that I wasn’t in control of this situation. And secondly, holding on was taking up so much more energy than simply letting go. Yes, the transitions were bumpy, but it was all about holding onto what was working for my daughter and letting go of what wasn’t.
There’s a lot written about the importance of letting go, but perhaps we don’t talk enough about holding on. There are so many things that deserve to be held on to. Somethings need time. Relationships go through difficult patches. New skills take time to learn. Plans don’t always unfold on schedule. Sometimes the right thing to do is stay, persist, try again and give something a little longer.
The difficulty is knowing when holding on becomes hanging on.
Perhaps the skill to holding on is learning how to hold on. That the holding on doesn’t always need a vice like grip. Perhaps we need to simply loosen our grip and hold lightly. To give it a chance to breathe.
But what happens when we reach the point where even holding lightly is no longer possible? When something has ended, changed, moved beyond us, or simply isn’t ours to hold onto anymore
There are the things we can choose to let go. A plan that isn’t working. An expectation. A friendship that has run its course. A goal that once mattered enormously but doesn’t anymore. A way of doing something that served us once but now makes life harder.
Of course, plenty of letting go happens against our wishes. Children grow up. People die. Friendships change. Bodies age. Careers end. Homes are sold. Plans don’t happen. Sometimes life prises our fingers open one at a time.
How do we know when we’ve given something enough, that it’s time to let go? I’m not sure there’s ever a definitive answer. That’s what makes it so difficult. Sometimes letting go feels terrifying. It feels like running full force off a cliff and hoping the parachute will open.
But what letting go does create is space.
Sometimes something new fills that space. Sometimes it doesn’t for quite a while. Sometimes we miss what used to occupy it. Sometimes what eventually arrives looks nothing like what we expected. Perhaps letting go requires a certain willingness to tolerate that empty space. Not knowing what’s next.
And yet, for all of my thoughts about letting go, there are things I’m holding onto fiercely.
My children growing up.
I know that’s exactly what they’re supposed to do. I know that raising children is, in many ways, one long process of letting them go. First from your body, then from your arms, then out through the front door and gradually into lives that belong increasingly to them.
But I’m not quite ready to be philosophical about all of it.
For now, while my children are still children, I’m squeezing every last drop out of it. The school bags and lunchboxes. The noise. The mess. The interruptions. The laundry. The endless driving. The small ordinary things I know I’ll miss one day far more than I can imagine.
I’m holding on. They would probably say little too tightly. But I am holding on.
I know there will come a time when I’ll have to loosen my grip. There will be grief in that. I know this. I want to say that I’m prepared. But I’m not.
Maybe letting go doesn’t always mean we’re ready to leave something behind. Sometimes it means loving something enough to allow it to become what comes next.
I wonder if the lesson is to hold on while its yours to hold. Hold it gently enough that it can grow and change. And when the time comes, find a way to open you hand.
No.
Definitely not that simple.