Let Go and Let God

This has always been one of my favorite expressions.  Possibly because I am by nature a worrier.

I come from a long line of worriers, so I have to actively resist the urge to fret over every single thing.
Literally.
From my husband driving out on the rain-slicked streets to whether my baby is moving frequently enough in my belly and even whether or not the person in my building who chose the name "FBI Surveillance Network" for his/her WiFi service is actually the FBI, and if they are listening to me, the boring housewife who cooks, bakes and reads all day, and my husband, the beer salesman who watches inordinate amounts of soccer when he's not at work or school.

Okay, back to the real world.
In reality, there are things in life that are completely beyond my control, like the upcoming birth of my baby, my husband's precarious balance between excelling at work and progressing well through school, my ability to find a part time job that will require me to put my infant daughter in very little to (preferably) no daycare, and on and on the list goes.

Fortunately, I have been raised by a handful of women who have ingrained in me that in the end, things do all work out for the best, whether we realize it or not at the time.  The only thing we can do is our own best and trust to the universe, fate, destiny, God, Goddess, or whatever you want to call the grand design that somehow constantly proves that there really is no such thing as coincidence.

The key to this philosophy, for me, is the "do your best" part.  I do believe that we get out what we put in to something.  So for me, let go and let God means put whatever work you can into the things that matter to you, and then let the process work itself out.

I have been working on this way of living for a long time, and for some reason it all seems to be really coming together for me at this point in my life.
This takes a lot of faith, a lot of patience, and a lot of confidence.
Trusting in something you cannot see or touch is difficult.  Being patient, especially when you really want something, is almost always extremely trying.
Add to these factors that many people are all too happy to poke holes in my theory or to provide concrete examples of exactly how it doesn't work, especially because I don't found my belief in any specific religion or philosophy, and my practice seems impossible.
So I have religious people feeling sorry for me and non-religious people writing me off as some happy hippy.
But this philosophy works.  It just doesn't sell.
What?  Work hard and trust that everything will unfold well?  That's crazy!  Be the best person you can be and have patience that you will encounter blessings with your name all over them?  Absurd!  Simply let go of something so important to me and trust that I will get what I need in the end?  No way!

A lot of the problems in society today stem from (aside from an insufficient amount of basic human empathy) the fact that information is presented and received as either black or white, with no grey, and certainly no vibrant, bold color.  Everything inside me tells me that this is an impossible way to live a fulfilled life.  And if I want anything, I want a life of fulfillment.

The trust, the patience, the confidence that I will have the fulfillment I seek come in shades of grey, red, purple, green, and yes, sometimes even brown.  And the thirty three years I have lived so far have proven to me that this is the most effective way to live.

So you see?
I'm neither worthy of pity nor a modern version of the seventies love child.

I'm just a pagan with a passion.  

Little Discoveries

Some of the smartest people I know have said that even after being in a relationship for decades, they still discover new things about their partner.
Despite this, after having been with Carlos for six years I often think about how well I know him.  I let my ego assure me that I know everything there is to know about him, even though logic tells me that I'm crazy and still have much to learn.

Lately, we have been trying to get out and exercise more often (and by more often, I mean at all), and so we take short walks around our neighborhood, or wander over to one of our local parks.  Sometimes I walk with a book (like Ichibod Crane) while he runs ahead, and we meet up at our destination.  Sometimes we walk together in comfortable silence or in deep conversation, depending on the day and the mood.
Each time we go on one of our walks/runs, I think about how familiar the routine has become and how I can predict each of my husband's moves because I know him so well.

I know that it will take him forever to get ready to leave the house as I sit fully suited up with my keys in my hand.
I know that he will procrastinate the moment he transitions from walking to running.
I know that when he finds me again after having pounded the pavement vigorously he will reach for my water bottle (never thinking to bring his own).
I know that when we get home he will procrastinate jumping in the shower and I will nag him not to sit on our furniture all sweaty (!).
All of these things I know.

And yet, just the other day, as we were preparing to leave and I was struggling to bend forward around my protruding belly to tie my tennis shoes, he says to me, "here baby, let me do that."
So he kneels in front of me, taking my foot onto his knee and proceeds to tighten my laces and tie my right shoe.
And as I look down, I realize, shocked, that I never knew that my husband of more than six years, with whom I have spent countless days and nights and discussed every topic from Kim Kardashian to Quantum Physics,
uses the bunny ear method to tie shoes.

Hm.

What do you know?