You Can’t Take it With You

When people say everything happens for a reason, it often comes as consolation for our struggle to reconcile reality with our version of what should’ve been. When we lose, when we grieve, when we just can’t make sense of the world unfolding around us. Believing there’s a reason for the unexplainable, even if we fail to comprehend it, becomes a life preserver in a place where we can only fathom drowning.

If you’d asked me years ago what I thought about it – if everything really does happen for a reason – I would’ve said I think you can find a reason to substantiate anything. It was safer that way. Scientific even. But I wasn’t being honest with myself, because I couldn’t find a reason to substantiate my lack of faith. And that’s when I knew I had to find some. I’d been treading water for too long.

So, I embarked on a pilgrimage of sorts. I started exploring possibilities, looking for signs, expecting tiny miracles. And to my surprise, I found them. As if accepting the nonsensical suddenly made sense. I didn’t know exactly what I believed, but grabbing that life preserver felt infinitely safer than braving the waters alone.

I’ve been working on my spiritual acumen. I have a long way to go, but I’m making progress. And when it comes down to it, it’s all about the journey anyway, isn’t it? It’s about connection, consistency, growth, and wellness. It’s about relationships, and most importantly, our relationships with ourselves.

We get advice from family and friends, mentors and therapists. We’re told we have to love ourselves before we find love, before we have healthy relationships. I’m beginning to understand what that means, and it’s not about our egos.

Our relationship with ourselves is the foundation for every other interaction in our lives. It dictates how we behave in the world – how we function creatively, physically, professionally, socially, spiritually. It determines who we are with our families, our coworkers, and even our pets.

The way we live together, work together, teach together, learn together, is dependent on an energy exchange. Productive interactions can’t occur without it, and to control or influence an outcome, we have to tap reserves. We can’t sell an idea without the right energy. We can’t communicate with our partners. We can’t even walk our dogs.

Our uncertainty, our insecurity, inevitably leads to fear. And when we’re fearful, we drain those reserves quickly. If we don’t have the confidence to accept ourselves, to sit with ourselves as we are, we can’t find our place in the pack, let alone lead it.

So, I started listening – REALLY listening – and taking inventory. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t know where I was going, but I was going to start looking. I needed to believe my life was out there, waiting for me to live it – REALLY live it. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost sight of the promise I used to see hovering over the horizon. I thought I was stuck, but maybe I’d just forgotten how to hope.

I packed up the things I wanted to take, even things I hadn’t tried on in a while. I singled out some things I thought I’d need when I got there. But mostly, I realized how much I had to unpack. The heavy things I couldn’t take with me, the non-essentials that just didn’t fit. The effort to shed the limiting beliefs and non-productive patterns weighed less than the cost of carrying them along.

I did a lot of reflecting and dissecting, minimizing and decluttering. A lot of leveling to make way for progress and rebuilding. And sometimes I forget how hard I was hanging on, and how much I had to lose before I let go. And sometimes I don’t see the tiny miracles as they happen. Sometimes I wonder if they’re ever really there.

And this past Wednesday was a milestone for me. I’ve spent most of my life getting creative with the art of avoidance. Even as a kid, I had a lot of anxiety. And part of growing meant facing life head-on, making better choices, not going into hiding every time I’m overwhelmed. I had to get comfortable being uncomfortable. I had to start sitting with myself.

This week marked 2 years since I’ve had a drop of alcohol. I don’t blame alcohol for my problems. If anything, drinking was an effective coping mechanism – until it wasn’t. And I didn’t want to take it with me. I know alcohol filled me with anxiety that may not have been there without it. I also know it didn’t create the underlying angst. But it wasn’t the liquid courage it used to be, and it wasn’t the fuel feeding my resolve to face myself.

It wasn’t always easy either. Change is hard. Letting go is hard. But what’s been even harder is knowing where to go from here. You can escape the cages your heart and mind lead you into, but it’s up to you to figure out what sets you free.

I thought Wednesday would be a rewarding day, maybe even worth a celebration. But it was just an ordinary Wednesday. I didn’t have any epiphanies or witness any miracles. I had to remind myself how far I’ve come.

Departures and arrivals are only 2 points in a journey. We make a lot of pit stops along the way. We can never stop listening, learning, living. Pay attention. You don’t know what milestones you may be missing. Be grateful for every last one, plot it out, and keep going.