The Art of Letting Go

My son has taught me a lot about letting go. Take tonight, for instance. He was finishing his dinner in the high chair, when suddenly, he made a marvelous discovery. There, underneath him, unbeknownst to him throughout the whole meal was a teething toy.

Not just any teething toy, mind you. This one was very special. It was in the shape of a rabbit, with a special hole for his fingers to grasp on tight.

The minute he found it, he started bouncing up and down in delight. He leaned far to the side, just far enough so he could pull the toy out from under him.

It took some maneuvering, some grunting and hard work, but finally he got it.

Even more excited now that his marvelous discovery was in his possession, he instantly held it toward me as if to say, “Get a load of this! Have you ever seen a teether toy like this one, Mom? Aren’t I lucky?”

More bouncing. Up and down. Up and down.

Then chewing. Chewing and chewing. Chewing and chewing. Imagine his luck--its surface was made just for this very thing.

He tried switching it from one hand to the next. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Then he thumped it against the high chair tray. Perfect. A musical instrument too! He seemed beside himself with glee.

Then, as quickly as the infatuation began and seemingly without another thought, my enthusiastic son scooted that very-special rabbit shaped teether out to the edge of the high chair tray.

It teetered there, precariously balancing for a moment. As if not quite satisfied with the haphazardness of it all, he grasped that very special toy in his pudgy fingers one more time and with a quick motion, lobbed it over the edge to join all the other toys he had cast aside all over the kitchen floor.

I myself don’t know if I would have been so quick to give up something that only a moment ago I had deemed so wonderful. But there he was empty-handed, ready to receive the next toy, whenever and from wherever it might appear.

I couldn’t help thinking of how many times I have held on tight to toys, possessions, people, places, clinging tightly even after they had lost their marvel, their usefulness, fearful of whether anything else quite so wonderful will ever come along again.

With hands filled, we are so much less able to receive the next marvelous thing headed our way. And as Devin showed me tonight, sometimes the act of letting go can be half the fun.