Learning to Let Go

When I was a child, my next door neighbors got a golden retriever named Toby. It didn’t take long for the dog to overtake me in size. Because I was (and remain) obsessed with all dogs, I was thrilled anytime Toby came out to romp around with the neighborhood kids. 

One of my clearest memories of this involves someone walking him on a leash in the backyard. I can only assume what happened next—I likely insisted on being given the leash to walk the dog. It is important to note that I was the youngest neighbor kid. While surely someone there was old enough to do the weight calculation, I could be convincing and before I knew it, I was holding the leash. 

At some point, Toby took off and while I could do nothing to counterbalance him, I must have thought I could run with him… which may have worked for a moment… until Toby decided that chase was the game and ran faster… until I tripped or stumbled. 

That part is blurry. What is clear is my commitment to gripping the leash as I was dragged around the backyard, bouncing off the grass straining my knees.

What I remember most clearly is my brothers and neighbors panicking and yelling at me to drop the leash. 

Maybe I thought the dog would run away if I dropped the leash. Maybe I thought it would be my fault somehow. Maybe I thought it was a fun game. Or maybe I was trying to prove something—prove that I was as big and strong and capable as my older playmates.

In any case, I think about this memory often. Whatever the reason then, I can translate the moral to now— 

In my adult life, how often have I tightened my grip on something that was hurting me to prove a point? 

And what would letting go of that look like? 

It’s funny to think of tiny me, stubborn, headstrong, and eager to prove that she was as tough as anyone. It’s funny until I think of older me, still stubborn, still headstrong, and, I fear, still eager to prove myself. 

But at what cost?

I like to think I am the good kind of stubborn. The kind that doesn’t give up on a goal. The kind that isn’t afraid of hard work. But I know there’s more to it than that. I also have the kind of stubborn that will leave me with bruised elbows from a metaphorical 100+ pound dog. 

So what would it mean to drop the leash? 

Would anything bad happen? 

I mean, really, would anything truly bad happen? 

And if the answer is “no,” perhaps it’s time to let it go.