I am not in control. That may not come as a surprise to you, but somehow it’s always shocking to me. Even as much as I know that nearly everything is out of my control, at times I think and act like I’m in charge of everything.
Or at least like I should be.
I don’t really think I know better than everyone else, but sometimes I think I do. Or I think I do for a few moments before I realize how crazy that is. I don’t really think I always have to run the show, but sometimes I think I do.
Sometimes that immediate response kicks in – and into high gear – without me realizing it. At least for a few minutes. Sometimes I’m acting as if I’m still geared for saving the world – and everyone in it – whether or not it wants, or needs, to be saved.
The truth is that I’m not in control. I’m not in control of you. I’m not in control of the outcomes. I’m not in control of what happens. I’m often not fully in control of myself.
I get triggered, and my emotions surge. I can’t always (ever?) control that. My emotions surge, and I lash out (or run away). I can’t always control that yet either. I’m trying to, but I’m not all the way there yet. I lash out or run away, and I notice it and apologize or step back into the moment and/or the relationship. That one I’m – a bit – more in control of.
I’m not in control of whether or not a yellow bird graces my day. I’d like to think I am, but I’m not. I’m not in control of whether or not Danny (my dad) decides to let me move him to a nursing home closer to me to make my – and hopefully his – life easier. I’m not in control of how well my book sells or doesn’t. I’m not in control of how happy the people I care about are. I’m not in control of how you feel or how you act or what you do. I’m barely mustering control over how I act and how I feel and what I do. That is my responsibility though (unlike the others), so I’m working on it.
But the rest of it? I’m not in control. And there is something freeing in realizing that. There is something freeing in letting go of responsibilities that we never really mine to begin with.
I’m letting go of my sense of control and of my sense of needing to control. I’m slowly but surely prying my fingers off of whatever it is that they were clasped so tightly around. My false sense of control probably soothed my soul – and maybe, at some points, saved my life – all those years ago. But I don’t need it now.
And I don’t have it anyway. I don’t have control. I’m not in control.
I’d love to hear your thoughts, and please share this post with others if it resonates with you!