let it go

I hear her screams long before I even get to the checkout counter. 

She’s about 4 years-old and she’s bawling loudly like only a 4 year-old can.

People are staring and her momma is squirming.  But this kid does not give a crap.  She wants the balloon she saw in the front of the store … and she’s simply devastated that she can’t have it.

I guess I should be bothered by the little girl’s tantrum – but I’m not.  I sympathize.

I know just how she feels - I can feel her pain.  Life can be pretty unfair sometimes.  And, quite frankly, there are many times the 4 year-old inside me would love to scream her bloody head off at the injustice ... heck, sometimes she does!

The yoga sutras say not to get too attached to either pain or pleasure - lest we get stuck.  But that hasn't always stop me from hanging on a little too long, bellyaching a little too loud, and letting my inner four-year-old embarrass me at the check out counter while I hold up the line.

And then I have a conversation with someone like Jan Withers, the National President of Mothers Against Drunk Drivers (MADD) - and I learn what Patanjali means to never give up, yet learn to let go. 

Jan's daughter, Alisa, was just 15 years old when she was killed by a drunk driver.

In the days, months, and years after Alisa’s death, Jan shuffled between the bed and the couch:

"Oh the rage!  It was a guttural, animal rage – such a strong emotion I had no idea could come from me.

My husband and my youngest son all worked hard to comfort me, but no amount of comfort was enough.  One day, years later, my husband said to me, ‘You know Jan, I’m on your side – remember?’

I finally realized, the offender was off living his life happily. I was hurting myself, and I was hurting my family - I was not hurting him.

So I made an active decision to release the anger and put that energy into something that would make a difference.  I just knew I wanted to do something meaningful."

Jan Withers remains a huge inspiration for me.  Not just because she now leads the charge to eliminate drunk driving – but because she found the strength and courage to get off that couch.

She reminds me, letting go isn’t an art or a skill or a trick you can learn – it’s a choice.  And by letting go, we give up the anger and the hurt - without giving up our faith in purpose and meaning.

Most of us will never know that kind of awful heartbreak.  Or at least, I hope not.  But we will be faced with moments when life deals us a blow that's a little more crushing than a balloon we’re denied. 

And in those moments, we have a choice.  We can hold on to our rage, our pain, and our resentment – or we can make an active decision to release all that – and put our energy somewhere that can count.

May each of us choose to let go of the balloon … get up off that couch … and do something meaningful. 

Like live again. 

Like love again.


A writer -- and, I believe, generally all persons -- must think that whatever happens to him or her is a resource. All things have been given to us for a purpose, and an artist must feel this more intensely. All that happens to us, including our humiliations, our misfortunes, our embarrassments, all is given to us as raw material, as clay, so that we may shape our art. -Jorge Luis Borges, writer (1899-1986)

Remember, you don't have to be a mother to get MADD.  If you are interested in learning more or making a tax-deductible donation, please, please visit their website at www.MADD.org

 

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