Letting things die
I’ve noticed a theme about this past holiday season. Almost everyone I talk with shared that it was simpler and more about rest and sharing time with fewer people. I heard about boundaries being set and letting go of performance. It seems a pendulum swing from last year’s fervent need to get back to ‘the way things were’ after the first year of COVID holidays. At the same time, I had been mourning the opposite in our holiday. Christmas was smaller than ever. My brother and sister-in-law stayed in Spain. My nephew was with his dad. Some family traveled. It has been several years since our “old people,” as my husband and lovingly called my father-in-law and grandmother, were alive but I missed them acutely this year during others’ absence.
Even before the pandemic the absence of our “old people” started a shift in our larger family dynamics. Our gatherings became smaller and less frequent. I’ve felt out of place in this. I’ve resisted this new season much like we resist most loss and death. The empty spaces Abu and GG left created gaps in my heart. And much like I didn’t want either of them to leave us, I have not wanted our traditions to change. I’ve grasped to hold onto something that is no longer. In that grasping I loosened my boundaries and overexerted myself in ways that left me feeling disappointed and rejected. Which, of course, is what happens when we cling to something that is trying to die.
Our family has evolved like any other system. When Abu and GG died it started to change. Their juxtaposed representation of tradition and ‘no fucks to give’ had been holding the family together in a particular way. And when any part of a system changes the whole must adapt. Whether we like it or not, it becomes something new. Whether we like it or not, people and things and times in our life must die.
We don’t like death in our society. We hide from it with supplements, treatments and exercises promising us to live longer regardless of the consequences. We don’t teach about dying, fueling the fear of it in our children who can only imagine what horrors we talk about in hushed tones. Because we don’t understand dying we make things up about it or just try not to think about it. It’s like a collective inability to get to object constancy; a world of infants turning their faces from the grim reaper because ‘if I don’t see it it doesn’t exist.’
Some of us have maybe not experienced a deep loss yet, but most of us can acknowledge the loss of a pet, a relationship or a time of life. Inherently, we know things die. As I write I am aware of the micro deaths in my cells, the idea that came and went, the moment that will never be again. All of this must happen in order for the new to be born. The next breath. The more evolved cell. The fresher idea.
Our discomfort in talking about dying and accepting mortality has trickled into how we see everything. We hold on way too much, which only keeps us stuck and often in suffering. One of my favorite equations is ‘pain x resistance = suffering’. Deaths are painful, but we don’t need to suffer more than the pain from the loss. If you are like most humans, you are holding on to things that are either already dead or trying to die. I have been holding on to some things that have been trying to die for a few years and I am ready to let go.
In 2023 I am letting some things die in peace and with respect.
I am letting traditions that now feel forced or inauthentic die.
I am letting relationships without respect and reciprocity die.
I am letting my desire to be part of something I no longer fit die.
The upside of this is the tiny shafts of green poking up through the dirt on the other side. I couldn’t see it before, but listening to everyone talk about setting boundaries and working to protect their authentic family time I saw I was not appreciating what was in front of me. I was so focused on trying to keep the old, I was robbing myself of enjoying the fresh moments in front of me.
I already had what so many were working for. Our Christmas was sweet and warm. Without having to try so hard I was able to relax into the day. We played games, went for a walk and had time for one-on-one conversations by the fire. It was new and fresh like spring grass after the death of winter.
Everything has seasons and cycles and sometimes we get to be mystified by perennials and other times we must cherish the annuals in our lifetime.
In 2023, I am welcoming the birth of a few new practices:
Putting my energy in the present; into what is in front of me.
Accepting invitations and not forcing myself into things.
I have not lived this season before and at times it feels a little uncomfortable. I miss “our old people” and their guidance. I miss the hub of family that gathered for them. And, I welcome the freshness of what is front of me. I am actively practicing this. Growing and letting things die. Knowing that it may be uncomfortable and will mean the loss of some things.
What will you let die this season in order to grow new things? What will those new practices be?