The Real Relinquish
Do you have a moment? Stretch out on the lounge chair beside me for a few minutes poolside. Close your eyes and imagine we’re here together, watching the pool floats skim across the glassy surface, aimlessly drifting, moved along by the morning breeze. They are passive and graceful, occasionally redirected as they bump up against the pool walls. The wind stirs the treetops like a mother gently nudging her child awake. The palm fronds sway like they’re caught up in some dreamlike trance. Can you see it too?
Do you have an hour? Slip off your shoes and come walk with me on the beach. The mesmerizing ocean pulses calming music, rising and falling in splendid crescendo and decrescendo, sublime crests of bubbling white. Cerulean, azure, teal, aegean...it’s like all the creative linguists got together to come up with words to describe this otherworldly ocean blue; and I’m still not sure anyone could capture it. Can you see it too?
Beauty around me is like breath inside me, so I am always energized and captivated by these creation exhibits. But today, I’m more than a casual observer. Today, I’m compelled, hungry for knowledge...ravenous. Here I am on an ordinary Friday morning, trying to communicate these extraordinary moments in sunny Florida surroundings...trying to absorb them into my DNA and crack the code that reveals what they’re saying to me. Of course peaceful comes to mind...maybe restful, or unhurried. But I wonder if the pool floats, the palm trees and the ocean were people who had one important message to deliver, one profound secret to tell, would it be this:
I relinquish?
Take charge, seize the day, make the most of every moment, make an impact, take hold of the future...these are inspirational words and phrases that provide an accurate snapshot of our world, my world. They are marching words, fierce fighting words. I think of the battlefields I’ve stomped across. Maybe you too? Some places in our life require a fight...the fight for a marriage, the fight for a kid at a crossroads, the fight for a relationship, the fight for healing. These efforts are worthy, valiant, victorious. In desperate, whispering prayers, these mighty, inspired acts tell the story of our greatest loves.
But relinquish? I don’t know. Relinquish sounds like lying down, like giving up, like letting go.
I relinquish my position to someone bolder, brighter, younger, better. I relinquish my dream to meet someone else’s needs. I relinquish my control to someone more capable. These are white-flag-of-surrender phrases that make me feel a bit like a mourner, more bloody than brave. And I’m torn between two thoughts: Is relinquish like failure; or is relinquish like the welcome savasana at the end of yoga practice (my favorite pose)?
The dictionary defines “relinquish” in this way: to voluntarily cease to keep or claim; to give up. Me, the perpetual English major, I look at the verbs here, words of action: relinquish, cease, give up. I find it funny that these words, full of surrender, are also brimming with activity. Think about it. Relinquishing can be a conscious choice. I’m not a plastic pool float, or a palm tree, or an ocean wave, but in all these images I see a sweet contentment, a gentle acceptance. And could relinquish begin to look more like something found than something lost? Something precious?
I’m swaying a bit like a palm tree myself, teetering on the edge of discovery. So many of our associations, our monumental achievements, they become our second skin, our identity. And often they smother us with this heavy notion of responsibility, like we’re running around trying to catch leaves in a bucket. They fall faster than we can run. We get tired but find no bed to sleep on. And tragically, we forget who we are, who we once were underneath all the layers of striving... striving to make our world okay, our people okay.
Looking through this lens, I see that relinquishing may just mean shedding our second skin in order to touch the softness of our first skin. Relinquishing and remembering are partners in a delicate dance. The first steps are questions: Can I relinquish fixing...myself, my friends, my family? Can I relinquish pretending...to have all the answers, to be the best, to manage perfectly?
The next steps are answers...our answers to ourselves, like “No, I can’t fix my kids, and it’s okay,” or “Yes, I sometimes disappoint people, and it’s okay,” or “Yes, I need more downtime than most people, and it’s okay.”
We all have different questions to ask and different answers to give. And God help us accept our answers. Help us agree with our own perfect imperfection. Because once we do...once we truly relinquish, then comes the sweetness, the contented life of swaying palms and ocean waves that have nothing to prove, and so exude their own unique and breathtaking beauty.
On our last day in Florida, the washing machine hummed with beach towels and I sorted through seashells. Mom was sitting on the lanai, sad to see us go. My son was doing his job, deflating the pool floats, and she stopped him. “Leave that one, please...I like to watch it float” she said. Me too Mom...me too.
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