On letting go of the things we carry, remembering we are not alone & week 51 of 52
everything we do has a ripple; rest the need to rationalize and, instead, explore
“They carried the sky. The whole atmosphere, they carried it, the humidity, the monsoons, the stink of fungus and decay, all of it, they carried gravity.”
― Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried
Imagine looking through a glass kaleidoscope, up toward the light, and turning the lens for the first time. A play of color and ever-changing patterns takes over your visual field. Everything you see is in motion, dancing, then the wheel stops, and there remains a single image.
Storytelling, deep listening, and immersing ourselves in others’ stories can allow us to glimpse what humanity shares, a constant motion of growth and rebirth that means ever-changing perspective. But storytelling can also exist as a real part of the world that wants to sell us division and the myth that we are alone and in competition, that we are only this or only that.
We are always shifting and struggling, but this human condition is ours, not yours or mine. We are in this together. What this means, to me, is that we are never alone.
Meanwhile, a single topic can do a million things: declare and instruct, coerce and exploit, explore the same information according to different timelines, or form questions into narratives that offer an emotional tug. If all humans are driven to feel connected to something, especially when we think about life as ephemeral, this means we are vulnerable to story.
The stories that feed us take what we see and attempt to look beyond one view, to show a dance of light and color, if you will, and invite us to explore. They educate us by getting to one root form of the word, educere, which means to support the realization of potential. And this sort of education—one of helping others to come to their own potentials as part of the whole—to me, is the antidote to both a belief we cannot change and a desire to keep things the same.
I am a strong advocate of being honest to a fault, and I believe this is how we find our potential.
I’ve known more than a few people in my life who are very good at changing the narratives in their minds to “see the bright side” or be polite. I’ve watched as they misremembered others’ ideas as their own or rationalized truly selfish behavior to preserve their ego and peace of mind. They mimic what they believe is popular or neutralize to earn the least resistance.
Some are so adept at capturing audiences with a well-packaged story that exploits common human desires, they can be mesmerizing, but their stories never last. No matter how hard they try to keep things static, light and perspective will inevitably move. True and lasting awe for our human condition comes from releasing attachments to our egoic urges and the stories that weigh us down or keep us static.
I think there are emotional and literal hoarders. Both are trying to cling to the things they associate with safety and life, and I’ve always thought of the accumulation as a way of trying to still time.
Döstädning, Swedish for “death cleaning,” is about clearing away more than what your yoga teacher tells you “no longer serves you,” it means getting practical and clearing what keeps you separate and afraid.
When we let go of what is keeping our view static, we can see the splendor of life in all its color. This is all another way to say that there is something medicinal about clearing out old, warped stories and items that limit us to a single view, even if they are sentimental, and being willing to look at them in a new way.
I was recently part of an Insight Timer call with fellow teacher Rebecca Jo-Rushdy, a certified KonMari® teacher. She shares techniques for decluttering space and sees transformations in the way people live as a result. On our call, she spoke of how new energy and perspective arrive when we clear our space because it clears space in our minds.
Similarly, thinking back on our own lives and the way we see the world, we might find that the stories we’ve told ourselves and others might be worth exploring through new angles and with new eyes. The trick is to go deeper and ask yourself what lives beneath what you’re telling yourself and others.
What we carry either serves us or keeps us stuck, so I invite you to ask yourself where to find more movement or light.
Remember the way a piece of glass can dance with a simple turn of light.
Make a list of material and non-material baggage you’re carrying—what stories, items, and limited patterns—and explore what it would take to let go.
"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." - Marcel Proust
Writing prompt: Write your obituary, a few paragraphs only, from the perspective of someone or something that loves you unconditionally.
"The way a piece of glass can dance with a simple turn of light." Yes. It's so worth considering what's making us brittle rather than flexible, stone walls instead of reeds vibrating in the breeze. Beautiful, Jen.