Accepting and Letting Go Are Twins

Mindfulness Myth #5

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The Coach took the Self to the Midsummer Feast. Plenty of people, plenty of cider.

The Self wasn’t sure why they were going together. The Coach was not exactly the partygoer. Was the Coach going to act as guardian, or was she in for the fun of it? 

She walked ahead, eager to get there, from what the Self could tell.

“Come on, don’t be shy,” the Coach turned to her, “it’s only once a year we celebrate sunlight!”

The crowd seemed to be having loads of fun. Many were dancing, while others stood together talking and laughing, holding a beer mug or cider glass.

The Coach led the way into the crowd, straight to the drinks. She got two glasses of cider and turned round to hand one to the Self.

“And now, let’s mingle,” the Coach added with a wink. 

“Do you know the people?” the Self wondered. She had always assumed the Coach was only her coach. 

“I may not know them, but I think I recognise quite a few,” the Coach laughed. 

They joined the people by the fire. 

A middle-aged man was telling jokes and humorous stories, although not everyone was listening or laughing. His T-shirt read I know I’m not the funniest guy, and it’s okay.” The Self smiled. That was the most amusing of his jokes, she suspected. 

“What are you smiling at?” the Coach looked at her knowingly. “The guy in his funny T-shirt?”

“Or just his T-shirt,” the Self laughed. “Seems inadvertently matching.”

The Self looked for elsewhere to go. At that moment, the man turned around briefly to show the crowd a flying kite, and the Self couldn’t help reading on his back: I no longer wish I could stand out through my jokes.

The Self smiled and frowned at the same time. It was getting a bit uncanny.

People moved on to another attraction, and when they did, the man nodded with a merry greeting, sometimes a theatrical bow, an almost undetectable shadow crossing his face. 

“A great lot walking around here,” the Coach gestured towards the entire place with the cider glass in her hand. “Care to take a short tour?”

The Self and the Coach started through the crowd. The Coach pointed now and then to someone, and the Self noticed their T-shirts. They read clear messages. The Self now knew to check the slogans on the back, too. Did the party have a particular theme, and if so, what was it? Or did the people just happen to wear T-shirts made by the same designer? Too much of a coincidence.

The Coach seemed aware and kept checking if the Self was noticing.

“Hi Tina, you singing for us tonight?” the Coach spoke to a woman. 

She blushed and bent her head. “No, not today, I’m afraid,” she replied with a twitch of her lips. 

Her T-shirt read I have accepted that I’m not cut out for the spotlight. The Self pretended to be interested in something elsewhere and took a step to catch the back message. 

I have let go of the dream of becoming a famous artist.

“What is this, Coach?” the Self inquired when they had left the woman behind.

The Coach grunted with a smile. 

“I thought I did a bit of showing instead of telling,” she replied tongue-in-cheek. “We talked so much about positive thinking until it stopped being about thinking positively, but about definitions. The more you talk about something, the less you actually do it. Explanation, definition, exposition - they usually only generate more of the same.”

“But what are these T-shirts?”

“Well, as far as I can tell, the front side reads what the person has accepted, while the back side what they’ve let go of in the process of accepting. But hey,” the Coach added merrily, “I’m not an expert here. It’s just a party.”

The Self wanted to protest that the people didn’t seem to have accepted nor let go of what was written on their T-shirts, but the Coach was too far ahead into the noisy crowd.

“Henry, my friend,” the Coach said, patting a man on the shoulder, “it’s been so long! How’s your son doing?”

His T-shirt read I accept that my son does not follow my advice.

Henry patted the Coach back on her shoulder and replied, “He’s fine, yes, erm, well, let’s see how it goes, he wanted to do that thing his own way, but I guess what can an old father do, right? Hahaha, he’ll be fine, or else his papa’ll need to come in once again and tidy up, you know,” he said with a loud laugh. 

He turned to wave to someone else in the crowd, and the Self read on his back: I have let go of the wish to make him another version of myself. She exchanged looks with the Coach, who nodded and said goodbye to Henry.

“Coach, wait, please!” the Self struggled to keep up trudging through the crowd. The Coach stood still. 

“I don’t get it. Are these people earnest about the T-shirts they’re wearing? How come they match what they actually haven’t done?”

“Maybe they’re aware of the T-shirt, but not that they haven’t done that,” the Coach replied, winking again.

“You mean, wait — you mean they’re bragging?”

“Maybe,” the Coach replied and turned back to the crowd.

They were now standing in a circle around the improvised dancing rink. 

The people were in full swing with their beer bottles or cider glasses in their hands, doing at times their own wiggling, at other times synchronised crowd moves like an ancient celebration dance. Laughing and cheering went along the way.

The Self enjoyed watching them until she noticed that all of them were wearing funny T-shirts. 

That break-up hurt like hell, but I’ve let go of the pain. — I won’t think about it, trying to understand. It won’t get him back anyway.

I used to try so hard to do a good job, but I’ve let go of that stress. — I’m taking the easy way out. Nobody’s going to notice a few mistakes anyway.

I used to think I needed to stick to every word I said, but I’ve let go of that burden. — I’m saying and doing what comes in handy to me. Words don’t count, anyway.

It was getting weird. 

“Coach, Coach!” 

The Coach bent her head to hear her.

“These people are different, aren’t they?” 

The Coach nodded, both consenting and prompting for more.

“I suppose they’re not about accepting something, but they’ve simply dropped something on the way that didn’t feel helpful any more.” 

The Coach nodded again.

“It’s just that — “ the Self shook her head, searching for what it was she thought. “It just doesn’t feel right.”

“Did the other T-shirts feel right, I wonder?” the Coach replied, raising her eyebrows.

The Self and the Coach kept partying until past midnight, noticing T-shirts and exchanging acknowledging looks. It was people wearing non-speaking clothes that they chose to sit together with, however, enjoying their chat, drinking out their cider and fetching more.

“Did you plan all this, Coach? For me to learn a lesson?” The Self asked on their way back, late into the night. Or early in the day.

“I didn’t set it up, if that’s what you mean. Talking to people does it by itself,” the Coach replied.

“Sure, I just can’t escape the feeling that it was uncannily related to our recent conversation about accepting and letting go. About how these two work together, most of the time. And then we join a party where people’s stories are about accepting and letting go — or not.”

“Maybe those weren’t all the stories. Maybe it was you noticing them more than others. Not everyone was holding up funny messages.”

“True. I kept seeking out those stories because it was so plain to see how accepting involves some letting go. And then, the dancing crowd — they’d snatched the phrase letting go as an excuse to repress a painful process or disclaim a responsibility. What a fascinating party!”

The Self walked on, elated.

“But, Coach!” she stopped, realising something. “Does this mean nobody ever truly accepts things?”

“Of course they do. All those people with the quiet T-shirts, remember?”

The Self and the Coach stood still, facing each other in the breaking dawn.

“The louder the T-shirt, the more questionable the message,” the Self understood.

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Find the Mindfulness Myth series here.