Detachment

So I've been Buddhist for nearly 15 years now. Not sure if it's okay to call myself that, but I align myself with the principals, although I could do much better in practicing. But in following Buddhism, I have grown pretty enamored the concept of "mindfulness" which stems largely from Buddhism and Hinduism. Buddhism has given me strength and purpose, when I felt at my lowest. I'm not traditionally one to go and say "XYZ religion saved me!" But I can definitely say that Buddhism played a large role in my development, down to the business that I started, followed by the book I finally finished.

While I've read about Buddhist principles for 15 years, it has only been recently that I have allowed myself to fully grasp and implement mindfulness in my life. While Buddhism can be a little difficult to grasp in some ways (it's literally so simple, that it's complex), I have gravitated heavily toward mindfulness and all that it encompasses. Letting go, moving forward, forgiveness, self reflection and accountability- all things I had to struggle to learn to embrace. And the most recent of the principles that really grabbed me was detachment. 

I did not recognize how much my new lifestyle really started to take hold of me until a few weeks back. I'd been spending a lot of time with Jon and I liked him, although there were a couple of things I'd been wary about. Jon is a great friend, and I learned a lot from him. But I was hesitant to keep seeing him in a romantic way, because I was unsure of his intentions. Sure, I like him, but I'm not really in the market for a fuck buddy at this point in my life. I've acknowledged that I cannot have sex without getting attached, and I no longer want to attach myself to a man emotionally, unless I know that we are moving toward a relationship. No judgement to others, but I have decided to establish more boundaries for who I allow to access my body, and for what reasons.

I saw Jon recently, and after a little drinky drink on his couch, I decided to ask him the question that had been plaguing me. I looked at him and asked "are we fucking or dating?" Jon looked thoughtfully for a second, before answering "I feel like we're fucking. My dad is in his 80s and still doing him. My dad mentioned how me and my brother are both single. I'm enjoying this." And then he followed up with "I know that's not what you want to hear." My response almost surprised me, "all I wanted to hear was the truth."

Wow. Yeah, I'd enjoyed my time with Jon. But I wasn't glued to him. I didn't cry. I wasn't even sad or bummed. He simply told me what he wanted and I accepted it. I didn't try to convince him to be with me. I just accepted it. And that felt good! I was proud of myself. Because I learned to be in the moment and detach, I wasn't focused on what I expected our future to be, I just worked with what was in the moment and I responded appropriately. That level of freedom felt almost intoxicating.

In looking within, I had to accept that my attachment to people and things stemmed in part from my fear of being alone or without. I've always felt that my role in life was to be of assistance to others. And while I still try my best to help others, I no longer feel that is my obligation. If someone loves me (romantically or platonically) and we hit it off, stellar. If not, that is okay too. 

My attachment to items is a bit different. For a large part of my adulthood, I struggled as a member of the working poor. I would often buy items in bulk, things like dish washing liquid, laundry detergent,  toilet paper, toothpaste, lotion, and paper towels, all because one of my biggest struggles stemmed from being down to my last $20 and being low on gas and needing to buy deodorant and toilet paper. So when times were less lean, I tended to stockpile household items, fearful that the day would return that I'd be down to my last $8 and needing bar soap and hair grease.

And since graduating school, I'm fortunate that I am no longer merely $50 away from homelessness. I can afford to get my nails painted professionally (they are currently neon yellow and I couldn't be happier). And at the same time, I had to accept that the dozen perfumes that I have are a bit overkill. It was finally time to just use what I have, and allow the pile to dwindle.

My move last year to California taught me that as well. I had to toss several items, and still ended up moving way too much stuff with me. As I set my sights on moving back, I have promised myself that next time around, far less unnecessary items will make the trip. Time to start using what I have and want, and purging what is only taking up space.

The other day, while working from home, my former boss stopped in briefly. He hugged me tightly before we caught up. He looked around my living room and zeroed in on the books on the bookshelf. He pulled out a book about psycho therapy, before putting it back. I then pulled it out, examined it quickly, and handed it to him. "You don't want this?" he asked me. "Nah," I shrugged. In spite of my tossing over 100 books before my move last year, I still held on to at least 100 books, which were quite heavy to move cross country. "You're not using this for work?" he probed again. I assured him that I do not need the book and will not miss it.

It served as yet another reminder that I am fully allowing myself to detach. While I previously held on to books by the shelf full, I no longer need them to validate me or make me feel safe or worthy. If me passing on that book brings him joy or will help him to be of service to others, I was proud to pass it along to him.

I've long viewed life as a journey. The ebbs and flows, the goods, the bads, the uglies. I'm here for it all, as it twists and turns. And I'm loving how much detaching is now part of my story. It's like we all pick up pebbles as we go through life. And some of the pebbles are ugly and jagged, like low self-esteem and insecurity. And after relinquishing those pebbles, I'm learning that I can walk a lot further with my hands empty and my heart full. I'm enjoying this.