Archives for posts with tag: let it go

We have a hot tub. It came with the house when we bought it. It’s a make and model from sometime in the 90s, as I recall, so, “older”. It wasn’t in great shape when we moved in, and my Traveling Partner put a ton of work into repairing the leaking plumbing and replacing the skirting with beautiful cedar skirting he made in a wood shop that was only just being built, itself, in large part due to the tools needed to rebuild the hot tub.

That was back in 2020. Seems almost a lifetime ago, already.

A practical sort of luxury, a beautiful spot to linger on a sunny day.

It was wonderful having the hot tub, and I used it quite a lot the first couple years, even on snowy winter days, and in the rain. It did a lot to relieve my arthritis pain, and still does when I use it now. But… it’s pretty noisy when the pump is running, which is problematic for good sleep if the stupid thing cycles during the night (which it does, nightly), which is a real problem in a household of people with sleep challenges.

It’s not just the noise. Realistically, there’s quite a bit of maintenance involved in keeping it in good working order and the chemistry properly balanced, and I don’t have the capacity, the reliable skills, or the will to undertake the work required. I’m made of human, and I have limits. After my Traveling Partner got hurt, at the end of 2023, we drained the hot tub, and shut it down. It didn’t get refilled and turned on again until late in the following summer, after the Anxious Adventurer moved in. It was nice having it back… but the noisiness seemed more problematic, and now it leaks (again).

Sometimes the verbs outweigh the value.

My Traveling Partner isn’t quite up to the work of rebuilding it, now, and can’t easily use it, either. On top of that, the deck itself needs some repair work that is difficult to do with the hot tub standing there (and not gonna lie, we’d install it differently if we were doing it all over again). I use it less often, myself, now…about half the time I go to use it, the chemistry is wrong, or the water level too low. Other times, I think I may want to soak, but I don’t take action because I incorrectly remember whether it is running or not. Still other days, although I may want to soak, I’m less physically able to safely climb into or out of the hot tub without help than I was 5 years ago. It’s no longer habitual, after the long period that it wasn’t available, followed by the even longer period during which I was frankly so exhausted from full-time employment on top of full-time caregiving I couldn’t drag myself out there. Well, shit. All of that adds up to “we aren’t using it enough to make it worth the bother”.

Sometimes however much we enjoy something and value it, we may have to choose to let it go for practical reasons. Not just luxuries like hot tubs, either. This is true of a lot of things in life. We are often called upon to change, and sometimes that means letting something go that we once cherished – and maybe still do.

As much as I loved my aquarium(s), there just weren’t any good spots for them in the new house. I had to let them go.

It is a Monday morning. A work day, but also a federal holiday. When I was a child, it was undisputably Columbus Day. There was nothing especially controversial about that, that I can recall. As I reached adulthood, though, there were more conversations around the negative consequences of colonialism, and very specifically the terrible results of “the discovery” of the new world for so many indigenous peoples, and also the horror of slavery in the US, and the lasting negative outcomes for generations of descendents of slaves, or slaughtered tribes whose land was (let’s be frank here) stolen from them. More and more people seemed more and more inclined not to celebrate Columbus Day, choosing to reframe the day as Indigenous Peoples’ Day. I can recall, initially, thinking that was sort of… weird and dumb… but the more I thought about it, myself, the more I understood the real healing power of making that change, and letting go of idolizing Columbus. He may have been “good for” business, for global expansion of trade, and for people in power seeking profit and glory…but he wasn’t good for the people who already lived in those places he reached in an era when riches were built on exploitation. So… yeah. I’m at work today, and it’s a routine work day. I let go of Columbus Day a long time ago.

I’ve let go of relationships that were causing me harm. I’ve let go of friendships that undermined my wellness, my values, or which put me at personal risk in some way. I’ve let go of “values” that turned out to be problematic and more likely to deliver harm to others than to improve the world in some small way. I’ve let go of lost items that I never found but which had sentimental value. I’ve let go of jobs that I could not ethically continue to do, even for a really good paycheck. There are a lot of reasons to let something go, and a lot of things we may be inclined to cling to long past the real value they once provided. Clinging to something is easier, and change is harder – but there is no growth in resisting change.

When my Traveling Partner first put forth the idea of draining the hot tub and shutting it off for the winter (and probably permanently), I resisted. I admit it; I don’t like change, generally. I enjoy stability. I definitely enjoy the luxury of the hot tub! But my Traveling Partner is right; this decades-old hot tub is noisy, and it does leak, and the maintenance required is much… and the deck needs repair. It all adds up to “time to let it go”. The fear, of course, is that letting it go will somehow leave us “worse off” than before – and that’s an illusion. That’s the emotional cling wrap talking. If we don’t let it go, that thing we’re holding on to will continue to worsen over time, in all the ways it is identifiably not ideal right now. Just worse, and progressively more so.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. So it’s time to let the hot tub go. I guess I’m okay with that – it doesn’t harm me to be without it, and there’s nothing to stop us replacing it later on, after the deck is repaired, with something more energy efficient, more modern, and quieter. Yes, it’ll come at a cost – but doesn’t everything worth having come at a cost? I think about that, and sip my coffee. I think about my Traveling Partner’s shared plan for rebuilding the deck quite differently, more suited to our lifestyle and future needs, with a hot tub standing firmly on a foundation on the ground, recessed in the deck such that it is easier for a couple of middle-aged lovers with mobility issues to get in and out of it, to enjoy it less constrained by our individual difficulties. I smile to myself, feeling loved and understood, and cared for; my partner didn’t push back hard on my clinging while I clung to the luxury of having a hot tub right now. He let me work through it in my own time, patiently emphasizing how having the noisy thing was affecting our sleep, each time it clearly did. We got there. I let go.

It’s not always easy to let go, even when we must. There are verbs involved, and choices, and a willingness to face change and to grow, and to practice non-attachment. It’s worth it though; it’s harder to walk my path if I’m wrapped in cling wrap. 😀

I glance at the time. Yep. It’s a Monday. My calendar is pretty full, and it’s time to begin again.

It was already daybreak when I reached the trailhead this morning, partly because the season is changing, partly because I slept in a bit (for some values of “sleeping in” lol). I got my boots on straight away and hit the trail. Quiet morning. Cloudy sky. It rained during the night and the trail is wet, muddy in spots. I walked with care, grateful to have my cane, annoyed by my pain with each step: ankle, knee, back. I persisted. I walked on.

A first look at a new day.

I’ll do this bit of writing. Meditate. Then run a couple errands before I head home to help my Traveling Partner with some paperwork. I suspect he could do it himself, if he chose to (although I’ve no doubt it would be unpleasant, difficult, and awkward), but it is easier to ask my help. I’d rather be helpful than deal with his discomfort and lack of enthusiasm for the task, but I honestly also hate doing this sort of crap (and somehow end up doing it in every relationship nonetheless).

I breathe exhale and relax. Sometimes things need doing, and it is important to get them done and see the process through. Like pulling weeds in the garden, it’s real work, often repetitive, and sometimes the payoff is not immediate, nor the value obvious. Still has to be done as a step on a path.

… I think about that a lot when I am walking. Steps on a path eventually make the journey…

The meadow this morning is dotted with tufts of greenery as the lupines begin to stand out from the grass here and there along the path, and in patches on hillsides. They are one of my favorites, and I’m eager to see them bloom again. I’ll paint them with soft pastels, as I have with watercolor, oil, and acrylic. I smile when I recall yesterday’s discovery of three new lupine seedlings coming up in the flower bed beneath the kitchen window.

As I sit at my halfway point, I watch the clouds drifting rather sluggishly across the sky. Less wind today. My headache worsens from looking up, and I frown at myself. I know better, I just like looking at the sky, and watching the clouds. Is it worth the pain? Maybe. Maybe it is; how long will I have the opportunity to see the sky overhead? We never know when the clock runs out, and it is always ticking. I’m not being gloomy, nor feeling the weight of my years, just aware that this mortal lifetime is finite, and that pain is inevitably part of the experience (but not the whole of it). I can choose differently.

I sigh to myself. Some moments I almost hear the ticking of the clock. It vexes me to be aware of the passage of time. I breathe exhale, and relax. I let that go and turn my attention to the flowers blooming on the marsh, the sweetly scented Spring air, and this delightful moment. It’s enough. I’ll begin again later. For now the moment is mine to enjoy, as I sit here beside the meadow trail.

A gray Spring morning, suitable for self-reflection.

I’m working on beginning again. A perfectly adequate reasonably pleasant ordinary sort of moment was poisoned so quickly by frustration. Frustration can be such a toxic thing – it hijacks my experience completely, if I allow whatever momentary bullshit to take over. In this case? The camera on my work laptop. I’m so annoyed by this. Somehow, the “privacy shutter” on this stupid thing is now toggled on, and every help file or article l I look at references some physical or software detail that is not at all how this particular laptop… is.

One suggests I use the small slider above the camera. There isn’t one on this laptop.

Another directs me to use the function key for the camera. This laptop does not appear to have that function key, specifically, and I haven’t yet found any clear guidance on what combination of other keys might get that result.

There are pages and pages and lists and lists of steps I could take, based on operating system – not one of them appears to match the details of this version that I’m using on this laptop.

…This difficulty only presents itself when I am on meetings, and has only done so since the meeting I had yesterday – on Zoom. (“Fuck this stupid bullshit” I snarl to myself, resenting having been talked into installing Zoom for one damned call in the first place.) I sigh to myself. Clear cache. Clear cookies. Uninstall Zoom. Reboot. Check all the privacy and camera settings I can find. All the basics. Minutes tick by unproductively, my frustration builds and spills over to… everything. I am annoyed and cranky.

“Stop.” I tell myself, gently. “Just stop. Give up on it for now, you don’t even have any more meetings today. Let it go. Reset. Begin again. Focus on other things that matter more. Fuck all this noise and bother over nothing.”

The view out the window, a different perspective on a moment.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I put myself on “pause” and look out the window into the blue cloud-streaked sky.

I sip my afternoon coffee, pleased that it is better than the cup I had this morning. I let that be my focus, for now, just me, this view beyond the window, this cup of coffee. It’s enough. It’s this moment, right here.

The hardest part of toxic frustration is choosing to let it go. Now that I have, though, I can properly begin again. I sit awhile, watching the trees on the other side of the parking lot swaying in the winter wind. They wave back and forth steadily, like inverted pendulums, rocking, waving, hinting at a cold wind I’m grateful I don’t feel. The sun streaming in through the window gives an impression of warmth, though if I put my hand on the glass, I feel the cold come through. Definitely winter.

I remind myself to leave the office early enough to stop at the store for my beloved Traveling Partner and pick up a few things he’s asked for. I’m eager for him to be driving again – soon – but I also greatly enjoy doing little things to be helpful. It’s a small way to show my love and appreciation. I feel needed when he asks for some little thing. He feels loved when I handle it capably. It’s an exchange. I smile to myself, feeling the way our love “balances the scales”. We complement each other in so many ways. We’re so similar, and also so different – we share so much, and enjoy life together so much more than we would without each other. I sigh contentedly; this matters so much more than the earlier frustration.

I finish my coffee, and begin again.

It’s another icy morning. The fog is dense on the highway, and denser still on the trail, where it dips low towards the marsh and the river. Frosty ground is slick beneath my boots and branches and grasses sparkle white as my light passes over them. I’m thinking about hot coffee, grateful for warm gloves.

I won’t sit long at my halfway point. It’s too cold to write comfortably, and the fog obscures the view. It’s a work day, too, and timing matters.

I’m in a bad mood this morning. My Traveling Partner started my day with his annoyance over some small thing, and I didn’t need that on top of my tinnitus screeching in my ear and this fucking headache, and my arthritis. I keep trying to push past it. Move on. Let it go. It wasn’t my annoyance, after all. Pain sucks, though, and I’m cross about dealing with it. I’m hoping for a relaxed routine work day after a lovely holiday weekend.

I yawn in the cold morning air and see my breath mingle with the fog. It’s time to walk on. It’s time to start the day. It’s time to let small shit stay small and not take other people’s bullshit personally. It’s time to begin again.

Yesterday had a pace and intensity I don’t generally prefer, but a lot got done, and what got done is behind me now. Some details in our living spaces are being refreshed and updated, partially triggered by the arrival of the Anxious Adventurer, but some of it simply completion of long-planned projects that had been delayed too long (life happens).

The dark somewhat monolithic secretary that has sometimes been a computer desk, sometimes a “mini office in a box”, and sometimes a cabinet to hold stray things is finally out. All the way out. It has served its time and I am grateful for all of that, but it didn’t really fit the aesthetic of any room it stood in. Glad to see it replaced with beautiful natural birch bookcases, into which the books have been unpacked. We had planned for this for four years. Overdue.

A finished project.

Other things got done, bathroom cabinets added, and things moved out of the way ahead of changes to come. It was a labor intensive day for everyone, each of us doing our best at maximum capacity. By the end of the day we were all exhausted, but also feeling quite satisfied with the outcomes.

Growth works that way, too. It’s sometimes necessary to dig deep, do more in a moment than we think we can, and push through the things holding us back. It’s often necessary to discard things that don’t work and begin doing something quite different. Growth can be incredibly uncomfortable, in spite of satisfying outcomes. It’s quite a bit of actual work and there are no guarantees of immediate success.

Another perspective on growth.

…It can be so hard to let go of things to which we have become attached over time…

Reassuringly, I find, incremental change over time is generally “the way”, and we definitely become what we practice. (What are you practicing? Will it get you where you want to go?)

… Let go of what does not work…

It is pleasantly cool on the trail this morning. I feel lighthearted and at ease. It’s Friday. It’s payday. The heat has substantially abated. Almost all of the work involved in getting the Anxious Adventurer moved in and settled has been done, now. He’s here. He’s unpacked. Now things can truly begin to settle into a new normal.

… There are still a handful of details, but my to-do list no longer scrolls for several seconds. Progress.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a lovely morning to begin again.