Not clinging on

Photo by Claudel Rheault on Unsplash

The other day, I had an honest talk with myself. It went something like this.

Clinging on is not for me. Nostalgia and habit are not reasons enough.

Cling on to an ailing Camaro? Just because these were my wheels during college is not reason enough.

Cling on to a house, even though it contains more beds than people? Just because it used to echo with toddlers’ squeals is not reason enough.

Cling on to a city, even though it no longer excites or charms? Just because it’s convenient is not reason enough.

Cling on to a career, even though the gung-ho novice has morphed into a cynical expert? Just because it was a struggle to climb the ladder is not reason enough.

Cling on to a spouse, even though interests don’t match and petty grievances sprout to fill the void? Is it reason enough that we had been in love before?

Cling on to a way of life, even though tomorrow will be just like today, and then a week, a month, a year? Just because the comfy replay loop can be kept going with coffee to wake up and wine to mellow out is not reason enough.

Cling on to life itself, even after body and mind no longer function? Just because there are doctors and pills that can keep a joyless heart beating is not reason enough.

No, clinging on is not for me. I’d rather do my best here and now, and then, when I reach a plateau, get out of the way, switch to a new way of living.

Or am I just saying this now? Is this what everyone thinks but rarely does?

Will I recognize it when I am clinging on? And if I do recognize it, will I have the resolve to let go?

Will I have the resolve to bow out of a good job, gladly passing the baton to another who’s full of promise?

Will I have the resolve to move out of a good house and city, taking little more than memories to start anew elsewhere?

And towards the end, will I have the resolve to fund someone bright but poor through college or hospital, instead of funding a desiccated man through nursing home?

The prudent voice whispers that there are worse fates than treading tepid water. Why fix what’s not broken?

But I also hear a defiant voice. It dares me to disobey the jailers masquerading as reason, worry, and habit, to try living beyond the walls they’re guarding.

The prudent voice makes me yawn. The defiant voice awakens me. And that must mean that clinging on is not for me.