Radical Allowing

Before the snow flew this past weekend, we had done our best to clean up the leaves in our yard—twice. We raked them up and then mulched them in the mower, so that they could be redistributed to our garden beds to feed the soil and insulate our overwintered garlic. Our yard was looking pretty okay after all of that work–that is, until the wind shifted, and howled, and even whistled some, and suddenly the west side of our house became the final resting place for a number of the neighborhood’s leaves. 

That morning I opened the door and peaked around the corner of our house only to find an ankle-deep reminder that you can do everything ‘“right” and still end up holding what isn’t yours to hold — whether it’s leaves blown in overnight or snow pushed in by a plow during a storm you didn’t ask for.

I’ll be honest and say that my first reaction to what I saw wasn’t exactly a hymn of praise. It was something like, “Oh come on!”--just, perhaps, with a little bit more flare. So there I was, standing alone–with no neighbor to glare at. No tool in the garage that could stop the wind. Just reality—showing up uninvited, like it always does.

Instead of pretending it didn’t bother me, I made the conscious decision to just let the moment be what it was—annoying, inconvenient, and completely out of my hands. Fr. Richard Rohr writes, “What we do not transform, we transmit.” In other words, sometimes the first step toward transformation is choosing not to hand our irritation or our reaction to something to the next person—or turn it inward on ourselves, as if we should have been calmer or wiser or more Zen about a pile of leaves or some plowed snow straight out of the gate. Rohr calls this kind of pause “radical allowing”—letting a moment be what it is before we decide what to do with it.

This time of year has a way of piling things at our door. Family dynamics we didn’t choose. Grief that returns on a schedule we don’t get to set. The pressure to be joyful on command. Not to mention that low-grade exhaustion that starts in November and extends well into the new year.

We’re told to manage it, fix it, push through, smile harder. But nature often preaches something quieter:  Things fall. Not because we failed—but because every season has a letting-go built into it. Radical allowing isn’t surrender or approval. Radical allowing simply means letting a moment be what it is before you decide what to do with it. It’s the gentle pause that keeps us from disappearing into overwhelm, so we can choose our response instead of getting swept away by it.

The surprising thing is what happens after the allowing—not during it. Once I quit arguing with the leaves or the wind, or “having words” with imaginary neighbors in my head, I could actually choose what to do next. Rake now? Wait until the weekend? Shovel again now? Pretend the leaves are compost where I didn’t ask for compost? Let it be springtime’s problem? Suddenly I had options instead of agitation. Presence instead of panic.

So if something unwanted shows up this week—iced over leaves, snow piles pushed in at the end of the driveway, emotions, circumstances—whatever–I want you to have a way of trying “radical allowance” in your own life. Here’s a simple practice for when what you didn’t choose shows up anyway:

1. Name it:  This is here, and I don’t like it.
2. Breathe once:  Not to make it go away—just so you stay here in the moment too.
3. Delay the reaction:  Buy yourself ten minutes so your nervous system can catch up.
4. Choose your next step:  Maybe you rake. Maybe you shovel. Maybe you wait. Maybe you ask for help. But now t’s a decision—not a reflex.
   

Nothing’s wrong with you if things are hard. It’s just reality being reality. The leaves arrived. THe snow was pushed in. That’s all. Take a breath. Then make a choice instead of letting the moment make it for you.

On the journey with you,
Pr. Melissa

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