On Waiting For The Catch & Non-Attachment
Something I’ve learned about myself is that I often enjoy shouting into the void, à la Zach Braff, Natalie Portman, and that other guy in Garden State. I think it’s why I enjoy Twitter and how I can be quite prolific in the medium of late-night tweeting. A few weeks ago, I had a bit of a breakdown and, half-awake, shared this sentiment:
“there needs to be a word to adequately describe the specific feeling of melancholic nostalgia that often accompanies the kind of changes that are overall positive but still somewhat terrifying in their grandiosity.”
I ruminated, fell back asleep, then woke once more—this time, in a sweaty, shallow-breathing, panic. I looked around in my half-lucid awareness and barely recognized my surroundings—the apartment I’ve called home for the last month—and realized that, over the course of the last four months, I’d found myself in a new job, new city, new apartment, new relationship, and (perhaps most shockingly) I’ve even been trying out a new hairstyle. “How did I get here? What the ever-loving FUCK am I doing? WHY is this happening now?”
“I was waiting for the “catch” and manifested a monster.”
I was waiting for the “catch” and manifested a monster. Kept moving almost exclusively by adrenaline and ambition, I fell comfortably into a routine. Eventually, I became comfortable enough to rapidly begin questioning everything. Before I moved to New York, well-meaning (I think) people in my life would say things to me like, “can you do it?” or, “living in New York is really difficult, it might eat you alive for a little while,” or, my personal favorite, “I know you’ll end up back here in Philly before long.” I knew I’d do fine here because I was coming to the city as an almost-28-year-old with years of experience living in a major city, decent savings, and an established career. (In my early 20’s, it was a completely different story.) I adjusted fairly reasonably in a way that managed to make me impress myself, since I know that I can be a bit uptight at times. Luckily, reality eventually set in and my ego was dealt a much-deserved blow to its most fragile pieces.
The other shoe dropped. The honeymoon phase was over, and it wasn’t financial woes or homeless-man-indecent-exposure that kicked it off. I just thought too much, I was too attached to an unseen cloud of misguided nostalgia and comfort. My imposter syndrome, not nearly as quelled as I would have believed it to be, reared its familiar, ugly head. Was my life in Philly so terrible that I decided to peel myself away and start an entirely new life separate from my friends and all of the restaurants I love? What am I doing? Is there a reason for this? In my last post, I acknowledged small pangs of uncertainty. On this particular night, they swelled and grew tenfold and then more, filling the shape of the container that I offered them: my entire, vulnerable, evening mind.
I felt sick, I felt as if the room was spinning. The apartment I purposely decorated to make me feel home—and I feel I did a pretty good job—felt, despite being full of belongings that are so blatantly mine, so disconcertingly foreign. I wanted to go home but I couldn’t tell you where “home” was. Is it the place in Philly with my second-string roster of clothes and beloved pieces of large furniture too grand for a New York studio apartment, is it here where my physical body spends most of its time, or is it a place that may not even exist for me at this time? Is home a person who would now be unrecognizable in every unseen way? Is home a mental state that I’m no longer able to access?
The illusion of loss has been difficult to bear. The nostalgia I feel towards epochs and places that were pretty shitty (or somehow parabolic to one of my many great struggles) makes no sense to me but I feel it so strongly, and after allowing myself to experience the cycle of sadness, I’ve arrived at an explanation: I—like so many others—feel comfortable in what seems familiar, despite any real or perceived amount of toxicity. I’m attached to vestiges that are harming me.
“I—like so many others—feel comfortable in what seems familiar.”
The most beautiful thing I’ve realized though? Sometimes there isn’t a catch. Some things are just wonderfully beautiful for a time and while bliss won’t last forever, it’s worth being lived-in and cherished while it does last. Having said that, I’ve been diving into the idea of non-attachment, which is difficult for me, someone who’s been penning naval-gazy narratives largely dominated by an overarching wistful reminiscence for the last almost-eight-years. For those of you who may be new to this notion or non-attachment, I believe the Dalai Lama summed up its antithesis (attachment) quite succinctly: “Attachment is the origin, the root of suffering… the cause of suffering.” Enough said, hey?
As someone wildly relational, I approach the idea of non-attachment with the same hopeful caution and skeptical intrigue that I once reserved for stoicism as a way of life. On the surface, both approaches seem cold, and if nothing else, with those I know well, I’m (often helplessly) warm and (often to my chagrin) haplessly undefended. However, much like the deeper meanings and intentions behind stoic thought, non-attachment is quote the contrary. When practiced correctly, non-attachment opens the door for a rare bed-of-roses type of what I’ll call “selective” vulnerability, enriching thought in self-dialogue, and the ability to access a pragmatic but hopeful approach to this terrifyingly abstract idea called, “the future.” It’s anything but cold, in fact, non-attachment could be considered the purest form of love, for self and for others. How true is the adage, “if you love it, let it go?” Getting the idea?
I’m still learning and adapting this pattern of thought to fit my personal ethos and belief—I’m not a practicing Buddhist and have been viscerally impacted by my Western upbringing so I’m sort of borrowing this idea—but I’ve found that it’s made things like change much more palatable.
Non-Attachment in a Career
Remember when I got fired from my first creative agency gig and subsequently lost my damn mind? (The internet never forgets.) Non-attachment would have been a great way to circumvent that whole mess. A central tenet to practicing non-attachment is that you learn how to center yourself such a way that you’re in alignment with the universe, rather than spending your life fighting it or living in fear that there’s some “catch” and it’s all going to go to shit before long. When you live your life this way, it’s easier to set and learn to tactfully ask others to respect your boundaries. When you’re kind to your self, you’re kind to others and the only way to have this level of autonomy is to stop engaging with the futile battle against destiny. You free yourself to see others as people who are fighting their own battles, which softens you in a way that little else can.
My daily mantra has been, “what can I control? I will take care of that. What can I not control? I will not let myself worry about that.” Worrying about your job turns into a self-fulfilling prophecy. I’ve found myself too distracted by the looming existential dread of job loss for no good reason, which can turn into performance issues when left unchecked, which can lead to termination. Now, I’m doing the best I can because I’m focusing on the now and the bigger picture. Plus, living in fear is not something I’d recommend.
Non-Attachment in a Relationship
I don’t want to brag or jinx anything, but I have to say that I’m in the most stable and fulfilling relationship in my life. Part of that is because I’m with a wonderful person who knows himself well and is unwavering in his sense of self but also willing to talk things through without letting opinions get in the way, but another part is me realizing that if I want a relationship to work out, I had to radically re-frame my ideas of what “relationship” means. How many times have I sabotaged an “okay” thing by blindly accepting certain ideas that should not be commonplace? A big one boils down to attachment. I can’t tell you how many times in my life an elder has said to any given partner of mine, “she’s a keeper—don’t give her up.” (Which, yeah—fair—but I’m not here to stroke my own ego so I’ll just leave it at that.) That mentality has kept me in so many relationships that were mutually destructive. There comes a point at which some people are simply a poor fit, and the idea that they must “fight” for each other is upsettingly customary.
“I had to radically re-frame my idea of what “relationship” means.”
Pushing forward until the wheels fall off isn’t good for anyone. Non-attachment can help you determine the difference between “love” and “limerence”—or, rather, “infatuation.” Non-attachment is a constant reality check, which is so important especially in new love when emotions are high and you’re prone to idealize your lover. Imagine holding on to a rambunctious puppy too long—your arms get tired, the puppy grows restless from trying to get down, unless there’s some safety-related reason for keeping the puppy off the ground, it’s not beneficial for either party. History has proven that to be my go-to move for ill-suited relationships. Not to say that no one should ever try to make a relationship work—on the contrary—but before heading to couples therapy, considering the intent of the relationship and who is benefitting from it can be a treasure trove of knowledge.
For me, night sweats like the particularly harrowing one I shared about earlier seem to be the result of being, perhaps, too invested in my own affairs. Why deny the ephemeral nature of everything? Transience is inevitable, and there’s nothing that any of us can do to stop it. Might as well embrace the chaos—or, rather, just not get too comfortable when things are good. I’m looking forward to pushing deeper into this idea and seeing where I am with it in 30, 60, 90 days and beyond. I find that knowing that a “catch” could (and should) very well be coming eventually is much better than missing out while fearfully waiting for it with bated breath.
Until next time.
xo, e.m.