Witness, Pray, and Hope

We may find it hard to understand that letting others “sink or swim” as they choose is love. But it is. The difficulty is that sometimes others don’t end up “swimming,” and then we have to remember that everyone has their own journey and their own Higher Power. Our assignment is to witness, to pray, and to hope, but never to do for someone else what he or she needs to do.

— Karen Casey, Let Go Now, p. 205

Honest Affection

Detaching from members of one’s family certainly does not imply a lack of love. On the contrary, it generally means a measure of honest affection. It is a demonstration of trust that the loved one will listen to his or her Higher Power and make the decisions that are right for their own path. None of us can hear the Higher Power of another. Therefore, we can’t know what’s truly best for someone else. We can know what we think is best, but that generally reflects our own specific desire for their life.

— Karen Casey, Let Go Now, p. 175

Live Lives of Ease

If we really could control others, our burdens would be heavy. Our work would never, ever, be finished. Why then do we think we want the power to control others? For years I pondered this. I think it’s because we think that if others do as we ask, it’s a sign of love, and love is what we fear losing most of all. When others give in to our way of thinking, it’s because they love us unconditionally — or so we tell ourselves. Only then can we rest and feel secure.

The fallacy of this runs so deep. Others doing our will has nothing to do with love. They simply may be tired of the battle. How much more serene our lives would be if we gave up the battle too. Deciding to detach is our invitation to live lives of ease. Someone else may not give up the battle, but let’s do it ourselves.

— Karen Casey, Let Go Now, p. 166

Think of All the Time You’ll Save!

The reason detachment is rewarding is that it gives us so much relief. It allows us to thoroughly relax our bodies and our minds. It makes us feel reborn. And it gives us extra time to play for a change, to plant flowers perhaps, or read books, reconnect with old or new friends, take up painting or weaving or birding. It’s amazing how much free time we have when we remove our attention from the many people and situations that didn’t cotton to having our attention anyway.

— Karen Casey, Let Go Now, p. 145

Why Forgive?

And I think if we went to court, some strange friendship court where you can get a ruling about these things, I think I would win, still, even after all these months. The pain has softened ever so slightly, but it still seems like she did something wrong. How do I forgive someone who doesn’t think she did anything wrong? Or who doesn’t care?

I could maybe do it if she groveled or begged. It would be even easier if she cried a lot. I would be more apt to forgive her if she told me she thought I was a genius with great fashion sense and that she wants to be like me someday. But nothing. No phone calls. No emails. No large, fragrant bouquets of flowers. Nothing. Why would I forgive someone who doesn’t even think she needs to be forgiven?

This is why. Because I want my neck and my back muscles to stop hurting, to unfurl like window shades. Because I want to sleep instead of having endless imaginary conversations. Because I want my mind back. Because I want my life back. Because she’s not the only one on the hook. Because every time I hang her up on that hook, the hook reaches down and grabs me, too.

— Shauna Niequist, Cold Tangerines, p. 167

Steps for Detachment

We detach in steps. The first step is to observe but say nothing. The second step is to say a quiet prayer and then avert our eyes, placing our mind with God and some details of our own life. The third step is to get busy, to move on, and to thank God for giving us the willingness to let others do what they need to do. All these steps will need repeated practice; at least I have found that to be the case. But each time I have walked myself through them, I have felt empowered and hopeful, and that has made me willing to take the walk the next time, too.

— Karen Casey, Let Go Now, p. 141