Sweet Surrender

Magic happens when we enter the unknown. To hang out in the unknown, though, requires a surrender of control. It means possessing faith in the greater, that we are inherently a part of - recognizing that each of us is truly a drop in the ocean - thereby, we are the ocean, with access to everything within.

I've been learning and practicing this lesson for years now. On the continuum of learning, my head understands the concept. Experience proves to me, again and again, the truth of the magic when I relinquish my illusions of control, and get out of the way, allowing me to receive the best life has to offer. While on holiday, this past December, I was gifted this teaching at yet another level - in my body.

In Le Diamant, Martinque, the beach appears to be an endless curving stretch of beauty. A stately mountain provides a stunning silhouette at sunset, and gives the impression of being not too far in the distance - one of the illusions of relative space and time.

Our first few days, the warm ocean water beckoned and delighted us. I'm not a strong swimmer, and I hate getting thrashed about in the water. I'm also vertically challenged, so finding the balance between touching bottom while out beyond the waves break point can be tricky!

We'd never been to this Caribbean island before, so I was unfamiliar with which beaches were considered "safe" vs. "good for surfing." I simply noticed that my comfort level increased each day, even as the waves grew. I later learned (and this was certainly proven as we approached the full moon), that this beach could be a bit dangerous and unpredictable. Ah...the benefits of living in the unknown served me, even then, because if I'd known to be scared, I would not have accessed the valuable learning to come!

In the late afternoon, of the third day, we headed for the beach and strode directly into the water, as though ready to hug a dear friend. The break point seemed out a bit farther this day, and the water felt like it had a little more energy, but I didn't feel fear. Instead, I danced with the water, seeking the haven beyond the line of tumbling waves, yet not too far from shore. On this day, when I found it, I couldn't reach bottom. My toes couldn't offer me that extra lift as a swell approached. My job was to simply allow the water to carry me, to move me as it would, and trust that no harm would come.

In truth, it didn't occur to me that harm might come. I felt completely at ease and full of peace, joy, and gratitude for this warm and wild ocean that cradled me so gently. My body registered, at a cellular level, the surrender I offered in the moment, and the enjoyment resulting from my surrender. My head soon followed with cognitive understanding about the lesson being offered to me, and I delighted in this "ah ha!" moment.

My husband's swimming strength far exceeds mine. He enjoys riding the waves, getting tossed about, and diving into the onslaught. When he noticed that I was hanging out in deeper water than he was, he conveyed his concern. He felt afraid that something might happen to me out there.

As I said, it hadn't occurred to me to feel fear, because I was experiencing safety and joy in my surrender. A few moments later, though, I went the caretaking route. While meaning to allay his fears - in an effort to be a good partner and avoid dealing with his anxiety - I gave up my own sense of peace. How did this happen?

I decided to swim a bit closer to shore. I figured, if I could report that my toes touched the sand, he'd know I'd regained control. Then he might relax, and I wouldn't experience the discomfort of his fear. I no sooner got both feet on the ground, and a wave took me DOWN! The kind of crash, that left me disoriented for a moment, about which way was up and out. The kind of wave that leaves you finding sand in places you didn't know sand could get stuck. That's what I got for "reclaiming my illusion of control."

Perhaps it would have been nice, if I could have provided a model for surrender (first to myself, but also to him, should he notice), instead, I learned both sides of the lesson in my body that day. I received an undeniable gift - both in the surrender and my attempts to grab the wheel and drive the bus.

The funny thing - I immediately recognized the familiar body sensations resulting from a crash. I have reached for that steering column a gazillion times, and in my efforts to assume control, I've landed hard after being smacked down, then I believed my only way back to equilibrium required a fight to reach the surface again.

I admit, the illusion of control is tempting, so I still make this mistake. I joyfully report: the frequency, with which I do so, progressively decreases, because I have a new model now - in my body! I'm discovering a new appreciation for NOT knowing where the bottom is, and enjoying the ride. It requires attention and practice, but surrendering control of the outcome is SO worth it to me, because it always yields an experience greater than I might imagine for myself.

Maybe this is something you know? Maybe this is something you'd like to learn about? I share this: you deserve to be carried by the waves, without having to work so hard. We often forget this in our culture - as though there is virtue in staying busy. Somehow "doing" receives more accolades than "being." We forget that relaxing and trusting that things will unfold in their own time, in a way that serves us best, is possible. We get scared that if we don't "make it happen," the worst will happen, and our tender hearts fear that potential disappointment.

Hmmm...I wonder? What might be possible, if you leaned into the water? If you trusted that whatever comes, you can - not only handle it, but delight in it, even when it doesn't look the way you think it "should." Consider playing with this idea, and if you'd like support exploring the practices of surrender, let's set up time to meet. It is a joy for me to share this exciting sweetness.

With love and surrender,
Joanne Lutz