Monday Mantra: Holding On & Letting Go

A mantra is a sound, syllable, word, or group of words that is considered capable of "creating transformation".

Every Monday I will post a new thought, idea, or focus for the week. When you need a breather from life, when you need a little inspiration, or when you're about to jump over the conference table and strangle your co-worker, remember the mantra.

Monday Mantra: Hold on to each other, let go of your woes

Part 1 - Hold On To Each Other

This past weekend I attended a funeral for my late Pastor. He wasn't just my Pastor, though, he was a friend, a mentor, someone who I'd known so long, and who's family I'd been so close with, that he'd felt like an extended part of my family in many ways. He was someone who, by deciding to move to Arizona all those long years ago, brought terrific friends into my life.

His kids and I grew up together - I even got to spend quality time forming friendships with their cousins - and, when we were little, we were inseparable. There were sleep overs at each other's houses, adventures in the old church parking lot with the big trees that lined the property, and many church events over the years, like Vacation Bible School and Christmas Eve skits. We played and laughed and lived our little kid lives to the fullest.

We got older and went our separate ways, as is fairly normal in this thing called life. I'm the oldest of the crew and, just by the sheer nature of being older, I grew up and moved away long before they did. In my growing up, and in theirs, too, it's fair to say we all sort of grew apart. We're friends still, sure, but it's not the same as when we were younger. We all had different paths to take, and we moved to different cities, so that super close bond you get from just being around each other all the time...well, that's gone.

My Pastor's church was the hub. It's where all of our activities primarily happened. We saw each other every single weekend and on all major holidays. As we got older and moved away and moved on, those times lessened. Still, I always knew that my hometown, and my old church, was the place where I'd probably be able to catch up with them from time to time. For years, that was one of my favorite reasons for going home to visit.

On the long drive home from the funeral the other day, a realization hit me: This may be the last time I ever see all of them in the same place, at the same time, ever again. In fact, this may be the last time I see them at all if we fail to stay in touch like we always say we'll do.

That thought breaks my heart.

Our old church is just that- our old church. It's no longer my Pastor's church, he's not there. It's not even his wife's church now, as she moved to a different city just a few short months ago. It's no longer the hub. Now, it's just another place. The guarantee I had all those years to see my friends, well, it went away, just like we did.

It's a hard realization to come to. When you are so used to something, so reassured in its factuality, it's heartbreaking to accept when it stops, when it changes. These were my people. And I still love them and I still care about them...but everything is different.

For instance, at the funeral I learned my friend Noah apparently likes Westerns. I had no clue. It's weird to have once known someone well and now realize there are many, many, many things you don't know at all. Like when we were kids, his favorite color was green. Whether it still is or not, I don't know.

Another realization I had, and have had for many years, is that one of my greatest flaws is not being good at long distance friendships or even friendships where I don't see the person on a regular basis in some way, shape, or form.

It's too easy for me to get busy and laser in on what's directly in front of me. On top of that, I'm much more of an introvert as an adult. As a young person, I was very outgoing. But now, that doesn't come as naturally or as easily, and I'm far more awkward. I'm like Barry Allen; I don't know how to "people" all the time. I don't understand their rhythms like I used to. It's easy for me to wonder how and when to reach out. What's too much? What's not enough? What borders on being a stalker if you miss someone and want to rekindle your friendship? (Kidding on the last one, but you get my point.)

Each year that I get older, I see things differently. Like how I should have tried harder and made more of an effort for us all to stick together. When you're a teenager, when you're young, the possibilities feel endless. You assume you have time- to grow up, to do all the things, to reconnect. You don't realize how busy you are or how many years have passed until they're gone.

You realize that losing someone doesn't just come in the form of death; it comes in the form of change.
_

These are people I've known almost my entire life. That's not something most people can say and I feel the weight of its importance, the value in having known another person that's really known you - through childhood and change and even loss.

It's these friends that were there for me when my dad died. Even though we were all tiny tots, they felt my pain with me. They cried their tears while I cried mine. I still have the giant yellow cardboard card they made me with "We love you" written in little kid scribble.

All these years later, yet still far too soon, their hearts are breaking in a similar way mine once did and all I wanted to do last week, all I could think about, was finding a way to help ease that awful hurt.

I wish it was as simple as making a giant yellow cardboard card and telling them I love them.


Part 2 - Let Go Of Your Woes

After I had started working on this piece a couple nights ago, I was feeling anxious. Like there was something I needed to do or fix or understand. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't put my finger on what, exactly, that "thing" was.

I just kind of felt...incomplete.

As I was sitting in bed, I decided to try something. To put this uneasy feeling, this intangible sensation, out to the universe in the hopes it would direct me to the answer.

Next to my bed sits a book of poetry and, lately, I've found every time I read it, the poem I'm reading fits perfectly with what I'm experiencing in life. So, I grabbed the book, held all the pages between my hands, closed my eyes, and repeated, "What am I searching for, what am I searching for, what am I searching for?" over and over again.

Then, I let the pages slip between my fingers until my thumb felt a warm sensation coming from the page beneath it. There, I looked over the pages in front of me.

At first, I felt defeated; my question to the universe had been ignored, I thought. The titles of the two poems seemed completely unhelpful, especially the one on the right, the one where my thumb had landed. However, I decided to read them anyway. The one on the left was called "The House of Pride" and it was about the value we place on pride, knowledge, and love. It was a good poem, but it wasn't what I needed.

Finally, I read the poem on the right, the one I had purposely been avoiding, so frustrated that this was where I'd landed, so sure this poem would do nothing for me, answer no questions, resolve no issues. I carelessly read it at first, until I got to the second portion. Then, I realized my error. This oh-so normal and average looking poem was exactly the profound message I was looking for. The answer to my anxiety, the missing piece to the puzzle of feeling complete in my thoughts that evening.

Ol' Clothes

The Junk Man passed the house today

And gave his call in his plaintive way, 

"Ol' clothes!

        Ol' clothes!

                 Ol' clothes!

Any ol' clothes to throw away?
Any ol' dishes...any 'ol plates?

Any ol' pants or hats or skates, 

Any ol' kettles or pots or pans, 

Any ol' bottles or ol' tin cans, 

Any ol' dresses or any ol' shoes, 

Any ol' things that you can't use?

Ol' clothes!

        Ol' clothes!

                 Ol' clothes!"

I searched the house and made a heap

Of things that I didn't need to keep, 

Outworn garments and out-read books, 

Clothes that had hung on rusty hooks

For the dust to grime and the moths to chew.

And thus the old made way for the new.

I thought, as the old man went his way, 

How grand it would be if every day

The Junk Man passed the house to say, 

"Ol' woes

        Ol' woes

                 Ol' woes

Any ol' woes to throw away?

Any ol' grudges...any ol' hates, 

Any ol' miseries or sad ol' dates, 

Any ol' sorrows or any ol' spites, 

Any ol' fusses or feuds or fights, 

Any ol' sighs or any ol' tears, 

Any ol' wishing for yesteryears, 

Any ol' quarrles or any ol' frets, 

Any ol' tears or ol' regrets?

Ol' woes!

        Ol' woes!

                 Ol' woes!"

 - Author Unknown