Khalil Gibran had it right when he wrote:
Your children are not your children
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself
They come through you but not from you
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you
I read a friend’s post the other day about her daughter wanting to go to Ghana, Africa and help build a school for kids with disabilities. My friend was torn between a guttural No and an intellectual She’s got to do what’s right for her.
The former was an instinctual desire to protect her daughter from possible danger and keep her safe. The latter response came from her inner knowing that her daughter was old enough to choose her destiny.
My friend’s conflict brought me to my own realization of what it really means to let go. One day it will be my turn to ‘let my daughter go’ as she finds herself, makes mistakes, maybe even messing up at times on her journey to becoming an amazing woman. I hope I have the strength and love to ‘let go’ so gracefully.
Then I thought of my own stuff, which I am continually trying to release: negative feelings, anger, resentment, frustration, doubt, blame, fear…
Of all these, fear is the main culprit.
Its strength lies in its ability to seep into every cell in our body and govern us from the inside out. And when it has us in its grip we then deny ourselves the chance to grow, take chances, overcome rejection and climb right back on up.
Fear is something I stare in the face whenever I have doubts about my writing, or each time I received a rejection from an agent. It’s what I have to let go of repeatedly or I’d stay stuck.
And when the time comes for my daughter to take a stand and live her life her way, I plan to stare it in the face – again – and tell it: “Sayonara, baby.”