On Letting Go
Mirror, mirror, on the wall...
content warning: mention of suicide
Rodger Penzabene, credited as one of three writers on the Temptations classic song “I Wish It Would Rain”, shot himself in the head on New Year’s Eve, 1967. He was 22.
You’ve likely heard this song. With lead vocals delivered by the inimitable David Ruffin and backing by the rest of the original members, (Paul Williams, Melvin Franklin, Otis Williams, Eddie Kendrick), it remains one of the saddest songs in their catalogue. Recorded at Hitsville U.S.A. in the spring and summer of 1967, and produced by Norman Whitfield, “I Wish It Would Rain” released December 21st of that year.
Unfortunately, Penzabene, an Irish-Italian boy from Detroit, wouldn’t live to see the song’s rise on the Billboard charts. He never had a chance to see just how many others also felt what he felt when he wrote the song. He’d never see how many would appreciate his pen. He’d never know that others too find themselves hoping for weather that mirrors their interiority. He’d never have the chance to truly understand he was not alone.
He’d only that year learned his beloved had cheated on him. The heartache proved too much for Rodger and he shot himself, his death not unlike that of the poet Frank Stanford a decade later. It’s often said that people choose suicide as an alternative to the seemingly endless suffering of their living condition. If only he’d have stuck around just a few more months to see what awaited him around the corner, what successes and new loves. If only he was able to let go of the love that broke his heart.
However important it is for us to hold on, it’s of equal (and sometimes greater) importance that we be able to let go. In a sense, if Rodger had held on for just a few more months, he’d maybe have begun to see a silver lining. Or perhaps he was clinically depressed and caught in the undertow of something more terrifying than the infidelity itself. Hard to say, as his life has become a bittersweet footnote in the larger history of The Temptations. But I suspect, in this case, in order for Rodger to have moved on, to have held on a bit longer (to his life and the serendipitous possibilities therein), he’d have needed to let go of the hurt that was dragging him down. And sometimes, letting go is unbelievably difficult. Especially when we’re not ready to let go.
As Janet Kay so elegantly reminds us, people like to play silly games. Honestly, unless you’re a tween or twenty-something, who at their big old age has time for it? Most of the relationships we entertain and try to cultivate are predicated on power, permission, and agency. We spend a lot of time and energy doing this dance with the vast majority of people we meet. Two hard-headed people will…butt heads. Unless one is willing to compromise, it’s hard to imagine such a relationship will be sustained for longer than is necessary—especially if neither party has made room for growth or adaptation. Likewise, two indecisive people will have trouble deciding whether or not they can even commit to each other (and frequently just drift apart, like jelly fish in competing currents).
These are just two reductive (and commonly used) examples of how power dynamics may determine the socio-political longevity of a relationship. But, on rare occasion, we encounter someone (or something) that neither heaps expectation on us nor seeks to impose its own will. On such occasions, the delicate dance of determining power dynamics is absent. This, Aristotle refers to in his Nicomachean Ethics as the virtuous friend—one who combines the best of both utility (helpfulness) and pleasure (fun). Most of our relationships, Aristotle reasons, are one or the other: useful or fun, but rarely ever both.
The virtuous friend, on the other hand, is absolutely present. The people in our lives who embody this combination of helpfulness and fun and moral standing are as rare and valuable as precious stones. And while it’s true that a good friend is hard to come by, if we’re being honest, your virtuous friend is probably neither the most knowledgable person in your life, nor the most turnt up and exciting. They just are because they see you, another person who just is. Hence, virtuous. They really just want the best for you and view your happiness as a manifestation of their own.
We who benefit from the love of a virtuous friend are contented by the fullness of their presence. And we do our best to preserve the bond. We cherish these bonds. We hold on to these bonds. But I’d like to take Aristotle’s concept a bit further and suggest that we don’t have to hold on to the virtuous friend. Insecurity (or just old-fashioned trickery) will have us thinking we have to fight to keep our virtuous friend(s). We may even fight ourselves, our better judgment, in effort to keep a very special sort of someone around. But these are cases of mistaken identity. We may misjudge the character or importance of an individual, mistaking them for that one-of-a kind type of person who genuinely cares (for no particular reason at all).
This may have been the case with Rodger and his too-friendly wife. It’s certainly been the case several times in my life. In these moments, engulfed in flames and muttering I’m fine this is fine, I come (again) to the realization that I’ve shrunk myself so impossibly small to make room for whatever odious and invasive species has colonized my free heart. I also remember, by grace of their presence, that my actual friends have never disappeared from my life. They remain as present as they ever have been, abiding and curious about my well-being, always planning to reconnect in the future (whether near or far). May the Lord continually bless my virtuous friends—Mr. Lucas F. Swertloff, Mrs. Lauren Chao-Hernandez, and Mr. Theon J. Freeman (in order of appearance).
Because their love is so real, I trust that I can, in essence, let go of them and still know the grace of their friendship and closeness. It’s an open tab, though not one to be confused with unconditional love. I’ve hurt each of my virtuous friends before, each in different ways, and regardless of the strength of one’s connection, it’s very possible to estrange a virtuous friend, to sever ties by dint of abuse and severe disregard (at which point it becomes obvious that you have not been a virtuous friend to your virtuous friend).
When something breaks between good friends, the saddest (and most worrisome) part is that one’s wounded and fragile ego (for lack of a better term) might lead one to adopt a sort of toxic victimhood. Rather than seeking out healthy outlets for the grief and pain, one can arrogantly double down and throw blame. But more on this for a later bochinche on being selfish.
My point here is that after we’ve been wounded or in the throes of heartache borne from broken trust, we may turn our rage, our sadness, inward or outward—and, improperly channeled, that energy can have catastrophic consequences. How does one let go of hurt? More difficult still, how do we rid ourselves of the haunted pleasures of the past, the joys that we no longer have access to, the happiness we can’t seem to find in the present?
For so many of us, after we’ve withdrawn to the high castle of our hurting, we look for things to dam up the gaping wound, to take the edge off, simulacra. The displacement of our typical arrangements, a big move, what we experience as absence, etc, creates in us a desire for the familiar—and we’ll fight for that. We resist the change we feel we never consented to. We may decide the lie is worth living or perhaps become convinced that it’s our fault (whatever it is). But the more we resist, the more inflected with pain our mundane tasks become. And on and on, until we realize we’re no longer living and barely alive to the sensation of life that everyone else seems to be experiencing.
The danger in doubling down on denial is that we may self-medicate with lies and fictions to distract us from the truth. So I’ve mentioned before that a guilty pleasure of mine is tarot and astrology. More pleasure than guilt, but guilt nevertheless because the notion of clairvoyance and soothsaying conflicts with many of the Christian prohibitions against alternatives to trusting in God. To be Christian means trusting that God’s will is deliberate and ever unfolding on its own perfect kairos. And [Jesus] said unto them, It is not for you to know the times or the seasons, which the Father hath put in his own power. (Acts 1:7)
But, when in the sunken place, I need and want to know if the person I’m thinking of is also thinking of me. I want to know what’s waiting for me around the corner. I want to know that the serendipitous and beautiful might find me and rescue me from my misery. In this way, certain tarot and astrology practices become dark mirrors against which we project our desires, feed our pure fantasy, indulge our need for affirmation, stimulate the sort of positive feedback loop our dopamine-starved psyches are craving.
This is the terrible vice of Snow White’s Evil Queen. She demands of her slave-in-the-mirror that it praise her—and when it resists, telling her the truth of another, more fair and beautiful woman, she reacts violently against its truth. She cannot let go (of her own vanity). In this way, when I’m looking for affirmation of my vindictive griefs, my wounded ego and beleaguered sense of entitlement, I too stare at my screen (mirror) and demand it tell me what I want to hear (that I’m perfectly worthy, that my enemies and obstacles and odd failures will soon wash away in the great tide of karmic/cosmic justice) rather than what I need to hear (that I’ve erred, that it’s time to move on, pursue new approaches, cleanse my space).
We want the positive feedback loop because it’s safe, because it assures us that we are no longer responsible, no longer have to take risks, no longer have to expose ourselves to loss, to hurt, to madness. Avoidant or aggressive, we become auto-erotic, self-satisfying gluttons incapable of reciprocity because we’ve locked on to ourselves and our wants and our needs as the only known and knowable quantity in an unstable universe.
The debridement of letting go begins with acknowledgment of the truth. We have to be brave enough to recognize and then begin to unclutter our psychic lives the way we might unclutter a closet—Marie Kondo style. If what lingers within you no longer inspires joy, you have to get rid of it. Let it go. This is, again, easier said than done. One is not overnight purged of the muscle memory of what so orgiastically resembled love or joy or pleasure or presence. But you have to. Let go of the mixtape Elton gave you at the party in the Valley. Let go of those old trophies from your college days (before the injury that ended it all). Let go of your need to control a situation that is already well beyond your reach. Those arms, as my mother would say, are too short to box with God.
And trust me, you’ll get another shot. You’ll build again, with new knowledge and wisdom (careful not to make the same mistakes). Your newfound self-respect will also inform your partner(s) how best they can meet your needs (and vice versa). Out with the old wardrobe and in with the new. Bye bye to the baggage of yesterday and hello to that breath of fresh air you never thought would fill your lungs again. Let go of what has passed, what no longer grows with you, what no longer appreciates in spirit and meaning and value—and allow what is new and present and beautifully real to take its place.
Love After Love
by Derek Walcott
The time will come
When, with elation,
You will greet yourself arriving
At your own door, in your own mirror,
And each will smile at the other's welcome,
And say, sit here, Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
To itself, to the stranger who has loved you
All your life, whom you ignored
For another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
The photographs, the desperate notes,
Peel your image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
What a great piece!
Beautiful, Andrew!