Letting Go. . . Exquisite Agony
A couple of years ago, I had the good fortune to interview a renowned local rancher several months before he died. A century before, his father had purchased some of the family ranch at the edge of what is now the White Sands Missile Range from a James MacAlister, so he was curious about me as well.
J. C. was an avid historian, as am I, so we were in hog heaven so to speak, talking for hours about the history of our southern New Mexico home. One of the questions I asked Mr. C., as I do of every elderly person I have the privilege to interview, was "If you had one piece of advice to give to young people today, what would it be?"
He answered me with a story. When he was about ten years old, the southern half of the New Mexico territory was besieged by a long drought. The cattle were dying in large numbers. His father decided to move the herd to the Corralitos range west of Las Cruces, hoping that the rains from the west had fallen there before being stopped by the Organ Mountains. But those grasslands were parched also and now the cattle were dying by the hour.
Finally, the decision to sell was made even though it meant starting all over again. Young James never forgot that drought or its bitter lesson of letting go. His advice to young people was, "Sell in times of drought." Translated beyond the realm of cattle ranching, his advice was to learn to cut your losses, learn to let go, learn to say goodbye. If you hang on too long, you may lose everything.
How right he was. How hard it is to let go of dreams, loves, even possessions. Old habits and customs die hard even when they no longer serve or have become destructive. Think of the marriages you know that persist, glued together by mutual contempt and hatred. Think of the employees and employers who trudge to work each day barely able to tolerate each other or the job. Why can't they let go and move on? Why do all of us have so much trouble letting go? We have had plenty of practice and yet...?
The infant must let go of the comfort of his mother's lap for the realities of the high chair, walking and grown-up food. The toddler must let go of his babyhood for the realities of siblings and school. The once ever-present blanket and thumb are replaced by a beloved doll that one day falls apart and cannot be mended. A child's pet dies and a piece of the child dies with it. Many of us have forgotten those letting goes until we are confronted by a child in the midst of his agony; then the old scars are painfully stretched.
In our mobile society, childhood homes and friends are lost repeatedly. When those tears are aborted prematurely, the grief work is never completed, and a corner of our hearts is left behind, locked away from any new attachment possibilities. Think of the profuse and public grieving we see almost daily on the TV from the latest Middle Eastern calamity. You'd never see such an outpouring of tears and rage in this country. Real men and superwomen don't cry. Chin up, stiff upper lip and all that, ole chap.
Letting go must not be confused with quitting, however. Being tough and having backbone was exactly what made it possible for J.C.s pioneering family to carve out their ranch in the first place and enabled them to rebuild it after the drought. But knowing when to bend, when to let go, was also what saved them. Unbearable as it was to let the elements defeat them, in the end they were victorious. By bending, they were not broken.
It was exquisite agony to make such a decision. If you do not allow yourself to grieve fully and allow the tears, rage, and disappointment to wash through you like one of our wild western summer thunderstorms, then you will never experience the sense of renewal from an earth (and soul) freshly washed clean.
When we fail to let go, life becomes oppressive, like the dark clouds of humidity that suffocate the breezes, and adds lead weight to each step. Unspent grief prolongs your pain and will soon leak out in the form of chronic illnesses, accidents, irritability, depression, and in poor performances at home and on the job. A stiff upper lip can break your back, literally and figuratively. As this writer/poet once wrote, "I will not live in dread of the pain of farewells, but welcome it as the darkness before the dawn.
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