The Grip of Attachment
scrabble letters spelling “why not now”
I've been thinking a lot about attachment lately.
It's amazing how often it disguises itself as planning, certainty, or simply wanting life to unfold a certain way.
I've become attached to certain outcomes.
I keep wondering, When is it going to happen?
When.
When.
When.
As I've sat with it, I've realized something deeper.
I'm not only attached to these outcomes—I'm also afraid they won't happen.
That's a tough combination.
When we're attached to one specific outcome and fearful of not getting it, we close ourselves off. We stop seeing possibilities that don't fit the picture we've created in our minds. We grip tighter instead of opening wider.
And sometimes, we become the very thing standing in our own way.
What if the thing we're longing for arrives in a completely different form?
What if something even better is trying to find us, but we're too focused on one particular version to recognize it?
I've been living a nomadic life for almost two years now, and this journey has become one long lesson in letting go.
I moved in with my sister for what I thought would be a few months. It turned into eight. (Does eight months in one place still count as nomadic living? I'm honestly not sure.)
Then I headed to Arizona, where I've been moving from place to place since early February. I think I've stayed in seven different homes so far.
Living this way has revealed my attachments in ways I never expected.
I've learned that home isn't actually a place.
Home is where I am.
For years, my home was my sanctuary. It made me feel grounded and safe. I loved coming home to my home! But if I'm being truthful, it was also where I hid from the world.
I've learned that I own far more than I need. Every time I pack up my car, I'm reminded how much energy we spend carrying things that don't really matter.
I've learned that living in flux isn't always comfortable. Some days I embrace the uncertainty. Other days, my mind starts telling stories. I'm not productive enough, not doing enough, not moving fast enough.
And yes, I still worry about money.
How much is enough? Will the economy affect my savings?
What if...
When I step back, I can see the common thread.
It's all attachment.
Attachment to places.
Attachment to possessions.
Attachment to financial security.
Attachment to how I think my life is supposed to unfold.
And attachment has a way of pulling us out of the present and into an imagined future.
For me, releasing that attachment requires three things:
Trust.
Surrender.
And remembering.
Trusting myself enough to follow my intuition instead of the fearful voice in my head.
Surrendering to possibility instead of trying to control every detail.
And remembering who I really am beneath all the old stories I've collected over a lifetime.
Sometimes that remembering feels less like learning something new and more like recognizing something I've always known.
I know I'll be okay. I always have been.
Even through the hardest experiences of my life.
In fact, those storms didn't break me. They revealed me.
A wise friend recently said something I haven't been able to stop thinking about:
"Surrender to the 'when.' Trust it is 'now.' It just looks different."
Those words landed exactly when I needed them.
Because underneath all of my questions about when, I discovered something much older.
Fear.
Not fear based on what is happening today, but fear rooted in old stories about not being enough, not having enough, or somehow falling behind.
I realized I was making today's decisions using yesterday's data.
Data created from experiences that no longer define me.
Meanwhile, the evidence of who I am now is right in front of me.
I'm okay.
I've always found my way.
Life has supported me in ways I couldn't have planned.
Perhaps that's true for you, too.
Maybe you're attached to a relationship unfolding a certain way.
Or a job.
Or your finances.
Or a timeline you thought your life should follow.
Maybe you're waiting for your own "when."
What if the invitation isn't to figure out when?
What if it's to loosen your grip just enough to notice what is already unfolding?
Because the new data is here.
It may simply look different than you imagined.
And maybe that's exactly the point.
I'm learning that surrender isn't giving up.
It's making room for something I couldn't have planned.
And for the first time in a while...
That actually feels like freedom.