In life, there are few things that time does not wear down. Recently I went on a trip to Peru, and packed the only pair of hiking shoes that I had: a five year old pair of timberland boots, well loved and already weary from years of traveling. However, I was determined to get a few more good weeks out of them, to save some money and also because truthfully, I was attached. I have this weird thing with attachment. I tend to latch on to things rather quickly, becoming territorial and sentimental when there is a threat of them being taken away. It happens with people, places, and yes...even inanimate objects.
Anyway, the boots made it through the trip just barely. I found that by the end I was developing cramps in the arches of my feet and was beginning to feel just about every pebble that I stumbled across. They were worn down, and thus, not entirely useful to me anymore. They had a purpose when they were brand new, and they delivered well. But time had changed them. My boots, while once a comforting object, were now starting to cause me pain.
And that's the thing about attachment. So often we secure ourselves to that which no longer serves us, that which is in fact making us sick. We do this for so many reasons, but I think the biggest one is that it is familiar. We do not like what we do not know, even if the thing we do not know may be better for us. We would rather surround ourselves with familiar, dying objects then risk letting go in search of something new, something that isn't guaranteed to come.
I think the biggest way in which I struggle with this is within my identity. I am 29 years old and still discovering new things about who I am. And yet, most days, I find myself frantically scrambling back to the old, back to the Sarah that was unhealthy and detached and safely isolated. For some reason to me, this identity feels safer. I worry that if I meet someone new and they only see the nice, neat parts of who I am that I am in fact a fraud and not being honest about the mess underneath.
But the truth is, the parts of me that are whole and healthy and good ARE in fact the real me. I am learning, so very, very slowly, that if I want to move forward I must be willing to let go of who I used to be. I must stay open to new ways of being, new ways of seeing and perceiving myself and the world around me. I must let go of my attachment to familiar identities that kept me comfortable but in pain, identities that left me longing for more and asking questions that were answered a long, long time ago.
One of the hardest ways we must struggle against our attachment to the old is through the experience of love.
Oh, love.
Love has no rules, does not play by anyone's games. It will not be controlled and it is not here to listen to all the ways in which you believe it is not right for you, how it's not the right time or person or place. Love doesn't care. It will take you hostage and smother you in vulnerability, make you uncomfortable and squeamish and so very much afraid.
Love is about letting go of your attachment to what you think it should be.
Of who you think you should be.
Because the truth is, when we really love someone, we see their flaws and embrace them anyway. Love is not perfect, after all. It's the imperfections that draw us in, that keep us grounded and remind us that love can ONLY be love if it sees the whole picture, and stays. Anything else is merely idolatry, an infatuation with a partial picture of only the best parts of the self.
This is why we put such a high price on love. It's rare to find, but when you have it, it fills you up. It makes you bloom and teaches you about yourself in a way that is new and healing...
If you let it.
Because generally what happens is we reject it before it can even grow. We test it and we push it to its limits, and because we are afraid, we purposefully bare our teeth to see who runs. We fall back into old attachments, old ways of being, and when we get the response we are looking for we wearily let out a sigh of relief and go back to our miserable, lonely, comfortable cells.
There's a story in the bible about a man who was an invalid for 38 years. 38 years of a single identity, 38 years of suffering and going at it alone. Jesus saw this man and asked,
"Do you want to get well?"
And the man replies (in so many words),
"I have no one to help me."
Now, two things about this story interest me. One, I find it interesting that Jesus would ask the man if he wanted to get better, and genuinely wait for a response. But I think this tells us a great deal about the human condition, about the way in which we are willing to suffer because so much of our identity is found in it. The second thing I find interesting is that the man does not directly answer the question: he externalizes it. He does not have a belief he can get better, doesn't even seem to understand what Jesus was asking because it's so foreign to his 38 years of experience. There is new life waiting for him, right within his reach, and he rejects it, outright.
Luckily, Jesus saw through his limited understanding and commanded him to get up off his ass anyway, and WALK dammit (see John 5:8). Jesus was not fucking around!! He knew the man's capabilities and did not accept his excuses. He saw the true identity of the man, in his wholeness, not in his depravity.
Man. If only we could. If only we could see how we look when love is shining on our faces, if only we could surrender to it with an open heart and wide reaching arms, if only we could see ourselves for who we really are and not who we have been or are trying to be.
I want to settle into love. I want to hold it close, to have my soul mingle in the vulnerability in order to get the joy, in order to get the sweetness of such an attachment. Because ultimately, we cannot have both. We cannot lean into fear and let go into love. We must choose.
And it is a hard choice. Don't be mistaken. It will require you to put to rest a piece of you that you may have held on to for a long time. It will ask you to be open and patient, to make room for growth that is painful because it is stretching you, making space for all that love to take root deep down in your soul.
Trust the process. You won't know where you are going, and that's OK. Keep every part of you open.
I know it hurts.
But sometimes, we have to break the bone to heal it.
It's much better to take the pain up front, than to never walk again.
Remember, if it's new it will be hard, scary, and feel treacherous at points.
Don't turn back.
It's not worth it.
Keep your face towards the sun.
And let it remind you of the treasure you've always been,
And of the one that's been waiting for you all along.
