Letting Go

We have all heard it before in one shape or another. We should be living in the present moment, not the past which we cannot change or the future that has not come into existence yet. Here is Marcus Aurelius, who restates this sentiment in his Meditations on a number of occasions:

Forget everything else. Keep hold of this alone and remember it: Each of us lives only now, this brief instant. The rest has been lived already or is impossible to see. (Aurelius 32).

He makes it sound easy, doesn’t he? Some of us, no matter how much we trust the sentiment, have a hard time implementing it for reasons we are certain are unique to us. Everyone else is able to pull it off, we think, so why can’t we? Just let go of the past and stop concerning yourself with an imagined future. If you don’t, then the present, the only thing you truly own, slips away from you unlived. Yes, yes I hear you Marcus. I hear all the others who express the same sentiment in any one of a hundred ways. It’s pulling it off consistently that proves challenging; silencing or just observing our ruminations and stripping them of their power to take us over in both mind and body. We may never be fully free of the obstacles that get in the way of that ideal “live in the now” state of being, but we can make progress if we devote ourselves to it on an active and consistent basis.

I grew up in a small college town surrounded by vast tracts of farmland that stretched to the horizon. My family rarely traveled beyond it when I was a kid, and when we did, it was always such a relief to once again see the fields of home. The time did eventually come, though, when necessity drove me to venture out and see what was really beyond the horizon. My chosen career field just didn’t empower me to choose where to settle myself; I had to go where the work was. At the time, the opportunities that presented themselves were hundreds of miles away. So, mustering the necessary courage from some well deep within myself, I set my sights on change and whatever new adventures lay beyond the wheat-covered horizon. That was 32 years ago. 

I could have settled in my new home, where I still live today, and isolated myself, thinking “I’ll just watch for the job openings back home, and whenever one comes up, I’ll apply. Someday, I’ll be able to get back where I belong.” That might have worked. It would also have consigned me to a restless misery, where I would have been living in an imagined future that might never really arrive while my present would have just been something to temporarily endure. How sad would that be? 

That’s not what happened. I had avoided trying to form any kind of deeper relationship with anyone during my college days, knowing that when the day of graduation came, we would be pulled in different directions, and I would lose them. No, better to wait until I was settled somewhere where it looked like I would be staying for a long time before trying to commit to any form of relationship. As it turns out, that relationship took shape. I fell in love, settled in, and worked to build a life in my new home. I never looked for any job openings back “home;” I was home. 

At the same time, that yearning for the land of my upbringing never really left me. I attended a Unitarian Universalist church, and there was a song from its hymnal that both comforted and haunted me, called “Return Again” that went like this: “Return again, return again, return to the home of your soul. Return to who you are, return to what you are, return to where you are born and reborn again.” And I did. My parents still lived there, and I visited them, bringing my wife and children along, sharing with them the place that had shaped so much of who I was. We didn’t manage it often due to the eight hour drive it demanded, along with other logistical challenges, but every couple of years, we pulled it off. Just the sight of the countryside would bring tears to my eyes, and the smell in the air would confirm to my soul that I had indeed “returned again.” 

I collected photographs of the landscape there, captured on postcards. I purchased clothing and other memorabilia emblazoned with the logos and name of the university there. I did all that I could do to keep that connection to the home of my soul alive–for decades. Then my parents died, both within three weeks of one another. On many levels, this shattered who I was. Their deaths were expected; they had lived long, fulfilled lives and had been experiencing a number of ailments that we knew would limit their remaining time with us. You are never fully prepared for it when the passing of a loved one finally arrives, and the associated grief, as I have discussed in previous essays, did come. Something else came too; something I had not really expected, but it was very visceral and real for me. With the deaths of my parents also came the severance of my ties to the home of my soul. That part of me died with them. 

I still carry memories, of course. At least those worth carrying. A number of more unsettling realizations began haunting me once I had delivered a eulogy for my parents and put that country in my rearview mirror once more. Something in me was sure, but exactly why I couldn’t say, that I would never be coming back. It was like a spiritual thread that I had been carefully nurturing for decades had been suddenly cut, not to be mended. Realizations of cold reality began to flood my mind: That country you believed yourself so connected to–what really connected you to it? It wasn’t like you were a farmer there, truly sustaining yourself by working the land. The university you attended, whose logos and colors litter your house–your experience there was not really that great; you learned little, failed to make the most of the time you spent there, and don’t have a lot to look back on with any degree of fondness. Why follow their sports teams? It’s not like you know any of those people there now. Whatever “connection” you thought you had is now wholly severed. Let it go–all of it. 

For decades, part of my soul had still been over there, nursing some fantasy that I might somehow reestablish a physical connection to it in some way. The place that surrounded me as a child is gone–the people I knew there are gone, and it has changed in many fundamental ways. I turned my back on it 32 years ago, but never fully left. As a result, a part of me was never fully here, either. I longed for a reestablishment of something that could never be reclaimed–and for what? I mourned for years the loss of something that had been something of an illusion even when I was there. I was always quiet and introverted as a child, and my social connections were very limited. What was it I was actually mourning the loss of? I had been living in my past, or rather a past that I wish I had had. I actually had visions of a future where I would go back there somehow. Under what possible circumstances could that even have occurred? My wife had always said it was a place she could never live, as it was too hot, without access to the open water she had always been close to.

What exactly would I be “going home” to, even if I could? I resent my past self for not living in my present when I was actually still there; I resent my more recent past self for not fully living in my present as my children grew up here–in their home. So much of my soul has lived for so long in a state of desire for a past that existed only in my imagination; a romanticized version of my childhood where I would have taken more advantage of the relationships I could have forged while there. Perhaps then my future might have turned out very differently–had I only had the courage to forge a way to stay, instead of the courage to leave it behind. As it was, I didn’t feel the connection back when I was 24 being strong enough to override the desire to leave my childhood home behind. Then, once I had, I never allowed my future to come into being, clinging to a past I had actually never known but had only wished for. 

So what to take away from this? The severance is complete. I have purged my home of any physical reminders of that country of the past (oh, I have still kept them–they are just tucked away out of sight, in a sort of “shrine” I plan to pull out on days memorializing my parents). I look now toward a future that is mine to manifest. No more longing for the return of the past, either what was real of it or what I longed for it to be. I live each day, as much as I can (thanks to manifestation meditations, deep breathing, and therapeutic videos that help me maintain my perspective) in the present, reveling in a sense of gratitude for the blessings in my life. All of my previous decisions have led me here, and when I take a look around, and center myself on where I am right now, there is a lot to be thankful for. 

I urge anyone reading these words to find a way, any way, to ensure that you are making the absolute most of the blessings and opportunities before you. Let go of regrets, mistakes, or longings of, or for, the past. It is gone. You can’t bring it back. Don’t waste today’s chances to grow and improve as you regret yesterday’s omissions or blunders. Your future is yours to will into existence. When its inevitable challenges come, you will meet them with the same resources you currently possess that help you manage the struggles of today. Look to those you love, and who love you. Get up right now and go hug them. Tell them how much they mean to you so you will never have to stare down at a gravesite, apologizing for taking their presence for granted. Every experience you have had has led you to where you are now. Keep the lessons you have learned, purge that which is no longer of use to you, and ask yourself what you can be doing right now to improve and enrich your life and the lives of those surrounding you. Then do it. You won’t live forever, so fill today’s life with truly meaningful experiences that help lay the groundwork for whatever dreams you have for yourself and your family. I’ll leave you with one more Meditations passage to carry into the day: 

Not to live as if you had endless years ahead of you. Death overshadows you. While you’re alive and able–be good. (Aurelius, 41)

__________
Learn about Membership in the Spiritual Naturalist Society

The Spiritual Naturalist Society works to spread awareness of spiritual naturalism as a way of life, develop its thought and practice, and help bring together like-minded practitioners in fellowship.

SNS strives to include diverse voices within the spectrum of naturalistic spirituality. Authors will vary in their opinions, terms, and outlook. The views of no single author therefore necessarily reflect those of all Spiritual Naturalists or of SNS.
__________

Works Cited:

Aurelius, Marcus. Meditations. Trans. By Gregory Hays. Modern Library, 2002.