Sometimes letting go of something is the hardest thing in the world.
I like to hold on to things. I am not really sure why. I am not sure if I equate clinging to something with being deeply committed to the point of not giving up or willing things into existence that are not there or even simply a sense of fear. But I like to hold on to things - sometimes desperately.
Emotions seem to be the thing I cling to most of all. I will fiercely grasp anger or disgruntlement in my heart and hold them there as a defense of why I have to feel or act a certain way. I will think that they have become quiescent in my heart, only to find them roaring back at a time I did not expect.
Sometimes relationships can be the same way. I think back to the fall of The Firm and how I failed to read the fact that friendship had really become the business. I clung because the friendship was old and cherished but failed to realize that lives had diverged to the point that business was the only thing keeping the friendship together.
Failed projects as well. I am almost quixotic in my quest to try to hold onto projects that have not worked or even simply things that I cannot do. It is as if admitting that I have failed or even simply that I am no longer interested is akin to admitting that I cannot do something - and I do not like to believe that there are things that I cannot do.
Failure. I suppose that is the underlying sense of all of my holding on. I do not like to admit that I have failed, even though such a failure on my part may not be indicated by anything. Things just do not work out sometimes. That is just the way of it.
Investment of energy too, I suppose. I invest energy in our emotions, relationships and activities. I put time and dreams into them - and when the the thing does not work out, that time and energy and dream become something which may seem to be a failed investment. It is not always true of course - learning and knowledge are never lost - but the primary point of the investment to feel that emotion or enjoy the relationship or become good at that thing are gone.
And so rather than admit failure, rather face the fact that dreams are all too often just that and that the energy and time did not pay off as I hoped, I cling. I hold on. I think that somehow by force of will I can make things different than they are. And the fact that such a change happens perhaps once in a thousand times does nothing to disturb my willingness to try.
Because in my mind the thought of releasing my hands and simply moving on too often has the scent of someone who has come accept things as they are instead of how they might be.