Letting go is scary.
The thing about letting go is that it’s scary. Even if we’re not completely thrilled with what we’ve got already, at least we know what we can expect with it. Even if holding on means living a bit smaller than we know we’re capable of, not being quite as happy as we suspect might be possible, or feeling ever so much more mediocre than we’d hoped, at least we already know what it feels like. And there’s a seductive, if false, sense of safety and control that comes from knowing what to expect if we stay just exactly where we are.
There’s nothing familiar about letting go, on the other hand. There’s a vastness and there are grey areas and at least a bazillion unknowns. Letting go is choosing d), none of the above, while not having the foggiest idea as to what that might look like.
In August I decided I was going to move back home to Maine. I started telling my friends and family. I started making plans. I met with a real estate broker. I researched the rental market. I found a yoga studio in Portland that I really liked. I had practically sent a “Save the Date” for my housewarming party. It felt warm. It felt cozy. It felt safe. It felt depressing.
Uh oh. I thank God for my unwavering trust in the wisdom of my emotions. Within twenty-four hours of my realization that my decision to move “home” was making me feel contracted and depressed, I hatched a new plan.
Inspired by a serendipitous overlap with Chris Guillebeau, author of The Art of Non-Conformity (a highly recommended read), in Portland, Maine, and a dinner with Danielle Vieth, my friend who’s living a largely untethered life quite successfully, I decided to let go.
I’m letting go of agreements, conscious and unconscious, that don’t make sense anymore. I’m letting go of a physical home and living anywhere in particular. I’m letting go of the plan I’ve always had to move back to Maine and have babies. I’m letting go of my lifelong obsession with always having a plan. I’m letting go of most of my physical stuff and as much of my emotional stuff as is possible in this moment, too.
(Please note that the choice to write letting go in the present tense is intentional. It’s a process, not an event. Some days my knuckles are white and I don’t appear to be letting go at all. Some days I’m cutting more cords than an obstetrician doing a double shift.)
One must only be willing.
I’m finding myself on a letting-go roll. Once I was willing to let go of the big stuff (my apartment, living my life according to others’ desires or expectations, and not seeing my own worth, just to name a few) I started to feel really free. My willingness to walk away from what no longer serves me (everything from being a New Yorker to outmoded ways of seeing myself) has uncovered a sense of unlimited possibilities bubbling up. At times I feel practically carbonated with sheer potential.
(I use willingness intentionally here, too. In Barbara Stanny’s Overcoming Underearning she notes that one of the major steps to achieving financial success is being willing to let go of your “ledge.” For some, the ledge is a job. For some, it’s a marriage. For some, it’s a business partner. For me, it’s my apartment and the expired agreements that are attached to it. Stanny points out that sometimes it never becomes necessary to truly let go of that ledge, but it’s our willingness to do so that puts into motion the changes necessary to be free.)
The freedom of letting go.
As I begin to peel my fingers off my ledge I feel like I’m being granted permission to be more myself. I’ve had more business ideas, more creative impulses, and more inspirations in the past several weeks since I began this process of letting go than I’ve ever remembered having. Am I waking up from time to time totally terrified and convinced that I’m crazy to consciously choose to be homeless and drive around the country indefinitely? I sure am. But I’m chalking it up to an Upper Limit Problem and moving on.
I feel lighter. I feel energized. I feel hopeful. And I feel free. I always thought I felt free before but I hadn’t realized the degree to which my compass was set to a True North dictated by what I was holding on to and unconsciously allowing to define my life. And my willingness to let go of those things and reset my True North to the magnetism of my own dreams and desires seems to have set me free on a far deeper level. Ms. Joplin was on to something when she sang, “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.” When you’re willing to let it all go you find out what’s underneath all of that stuff. When you’ve stripped off enough layers and are truly willing to lose it, then you get to feel free (and go hang out with Bobby McGee).
So, whaddya think? Are you ready to let go with me?
If you answered yes, here’s a quick exercise to get you started. Get a pen and paper and actually do the exercise. Don’t just think about your answers. Just trust me, it works much better when you write it down:
- Write down something big you’ve been holding on to because it feels safe or comfortable but that, deep down, you know has you shackled. (I can almost guarantee that the first thing that popped into your head is it. Even if it scares you, write it down. You don’t have to let it go right now. Just write it down.)
- What do you get from holding on to this thing? Write it down.
- What would you feel like if you let go of this thing? What would it allow you to do that you don’t feel like you’re able to do now? Write it down.
- Are you willing to let go of it? Write yes or no. (No is a perfectly fine answer. Sometimes it’s just not time yet.)
- If you answered yes to the last question, what is one specific action step you can take right now or very soon towards letting go of this thing? (For example, you could write it down and burn the piece of paper as a ritual, you could write a resignation letter, you could put your house on the market, you could have a conversation you’ve been meaning to have for a while, etc.
- Do the action step immediately, or if that’s not possible, schedule it in your calendar for sometime in the next week.
I can’t guarantee you’ll feel free right away. Instead you might feel nauseous or as though there’s no floor under your feet. That’s okay. Hang out in the void for a while. Cry or write or dance or scream. Or cry while you’re writing and dancing and screaming. Just stay willing to let go. And when the angst and groundlessness passes, enjoy the hell out of the freedom that’s just on the other side.
FREE Teleseminar on letting go.
Want more? Join my mom, Dr. Christiane Northrup, Team Northrup, and I for a free teleseminar on The Freedom of Letting Go on Tuesday, November 16th from 8:00 – 8:30pm EST. [email protected] to reserve your spot and for call-in details. (If you’re a Team Northrup member there’s no need to RSVP.)
Leave your stories, insights, answers to the bulleted questions, and results from your action steps below. Tell me what you think. I’m interested. Seriously.