Field notes on letting go

Quitting my job after 18 years (and 30 + in the sector) - wow - that’s a big let go. Imagine not cleaning out a closet for 18 years - a closet that was used every day. Think of all the artifacts, outdated fashions, treasured mementos and trinkets in that closet. Now imagine leaving it behind. It’s a lot to unpack. It’s a lot to savor, reflect on, give thanks for and appreciate. But it’s over - so now what? The experience is in my body and part of who I am. I can keep it in my pocket like a piece of lavender sea glass and (in time) empty my mind of the countless conversations, emails and conference calls. I can stop “doing” and practice “being.” I can move it from my head to my heart. And that’s where it can remain. This is proving to be quite a challenge. I imagined spending most of my time here in Hawaii meditating and connecting with the earth. I have many moments with trees, rocks and water but then my mind wants me to “do” something. I work on my resume, a blog or organize my google drive. I laugh at myself and my need to slowly untangle the vine and my busy mind. One moment at a time. Breathe in and breathe out. (In honor of Thich Nhat Hanh who died this week.) I am allowing myself to disentangle myself with care.

I’m living on 117 acres of land with two other people in Kapaau, Hawaii. One of the workers is the kind of person who can do anything - build a car, fix a tractor, install solar, raise animals, create a garden or a pond, hunt, fish, build a cabin and even sew. Just yesterday I watched him skin and butcher a sow that was hurt by his dog so he had to kill it. I observed his impeccability and use of every part of that sow, including cooked bones for his dog and meat delivered to others. And then there I am - feeling like a child who has much to learn. I can find a few ways to help - I wash dishes, give the dog water, water the garden and plant seeds. Mostly, I need to stay out of the way. It’s strange to feel so lacking in skill after a 30+ year career where I was considered a leader. The “being the kid” part is great - climbing trees, picking flowers, eating fruit off trees, looking at the stars, shrieking and then laughing when there’s a chicken in my room - haha. But I know I can be in the way - an annoyance - not of much help. I had to find my own thing to do - besides meditate - besides yoga - besides looking for humpback whales on the horizon. Besides keeping myself busy by updating my resume and organizing files on my computer because I’m comfortable there.

I was helping to find two lost cows - exploring the property calling their names. Like a kid, I got distracted by the guava trees. As I ate the fruit, I noticed invasive vines choking many of the trees. This is familiar territory for me from my own garden in Amherst. The next day, after checking with my supervisor (my friend :)) I bought some garden shears and went back up the hill to the guava trees, cutting and ripping out vines. I’ve written about gardening before in “Digging in Dirt” and “Clearing a Path to the Heart” and here is the theme again - pulling away choking vines to reveal the tender, vulnerable tree underneath. Helping the tree have access to light so it can bear its sweet fruit. I see those vines as trauma and a heavy past and it feels good to rip them off, talk to the tree, honor its vulnerability and nourish its growth. One of the workers explained that the vines are meant to be there. All of the plants on this land are invasive, each finding its place. Plants choking plants - plants killing other plants - is part of life. Ouch. I guess that’s true. Many of us have been weighed down by events in our lives. We’ve been choked out by others. But do we have to accept that? Do I have to accept plants choking plants? Understanding him, I asked if it would be okay if I addressed a few trees anyway - and he agreed - no problem and he understood how I felt when I explained why I’m drawn to it. Why freeing a tree from a burden can help me free my own.

I was following behind as we worked our way through tall grass, prickly flowers and under boughs, sometimes on hands and knees following a pig path through trees - searching for the lost cows. It was fun listening how to track a cow. He showed me how you can see when grass was bitten or signs of the weight of the animal pushing through. I liked witnessing keen observation and attention to subtle detail. Some of the grass is taller than I am and you have to lift your legs up really high to march through or it gets wrapped around your ankles, halting in tracks. The pathway was often obscured and sometimes impassible - like life. Some of the very pretty wildflowers are prickly and when I got back my skirt was covered in little seeds and burrs - covered! ha!

Later, when I got back from the vine ripping, cutting and bushwhacking, I realized I lost two bracelets. Another literal lesson in letting go. One bracelet was a family heirloom and I’ve owned for about a year. It has a family crest or insignia on it and belonged to my great grandmother. My mom gave it to me when we moved her into assisted living last year. The other one was a bracelet that my daughter, Frances gave me for Christmas this year. They both meant a lot to me and they lived on my arm. This makes me explore the notion of letting go of things I don’t want to let go of - to things I cherish and hold dear. Starting with the gold bracelet - like most of us - I have some pain associated with my childhood. Maybe this is a literal reminder to let the hard stuff fall to the ground - let the history go. And Frances’ bracelet - letting children be adults - is a practice. Frances is independent and powerful - she is my teacher - but I still check in with her a lot and use a lot of brain power on her :) I’m a mom! Letting go of that grip is also a practice. And this brings me back to leaving my career - something I hold so close to my heart because I gave it everything I had and because the work and people mean so much to me. Precious metals as a gift to the earth and its wisdom.

I stopped looking for bracelets. They are gone now. But I found a big snail, spiderwebs, flowers and stepped on the jaw bone of a hog with horns and teeth. I imagine the artifacts of my childhood, ancestry, career, loves and motherhood shedding as I wend along the path that I can’t see clearly yet. - I’m bushwhacking. I’m crawling under boughs, getting scratches on ankles from prickly flowers and losing my sense of direction. I fall down sometimes, the hedge impenetrable - I concede to nature. I cannot pass right now. There is no clear path yet. Lie down and rest. So I do - reluctantly. I have to laugh. And I like it.