When is it okay to run away?
Life lessons
The art of letting go is monumental. I tend to hold onto things for dear life. I am very nostalgic… too nostalgic. I even have all my dog’s baby teeth. Weird, I know.
Anyway, a significant part of my growth as a human being has been mastering the art of letting go. I mention my collection of dog teeth to emphasize how hard it has been for me to learn how to detach.
We are often told to stay and fight, face our battles head-on, and conquer our demons. But what if walking (or running) away is the answer? What if the path to peace and serenity involves picking up your bags and walking away?
There have been a handful of times in my life when turning my back on what was no longer serving me—where I was no longer serving them/it/whatever—proved to be the path of least resistance.
That’s not to say I haven’t fought tooth and nail for the things I love. I usually fight to the death. But at whose expense? Mostly my own.
Walking away can serve you. It can teach you self-respect and quiet the chaos.
When I was in middle school, I lived a very tumultuous life. My family was broken, the girls at my school relentlessly bullied me, and there wasn’t much to live for. I came up with a plan to move to Colorado. For an Upper East Side girl, this was a drastic and rash lifestyle change, but I had given New York my everything. I had given my heart, my soul, and everything in me to make it work. But it just wasn’t working. My life force was at an all-time low, and I had to do what was best for me: leave. So I packed my things, got on a plane, and moved to a suburb of Denver. It was, by far, one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. It brought me so much happiness, growth, and insight into who I am and what I love. I would do it a million times over if presented the opportunity again.
No one was going to save me from my circumstances but me. So that’s what I did, and that’s what I will continue to do. It’s hard to walk away from situations because of all the good bits. But I had to look at the scales, see which way they were tipping, and make an educated decision. Time and time again, I prove to be my own hero.
There’s this David Attenborough documentary—one of his many animal documentaries. I find them actually very depressing, watching animals go extinct and die, but that’s beside the point. There was a part in this documentary where a baby flamingo had sandy feet. The sand had crusted around its feet like a pair of boots, making it very difficult for the baby flamingo to walk, and lo and behold, the baby flamingo died. It was truly devastating and something I’ll never be able to get out of my head. I don’t recommend the documentary this is featured in, but that’s not my point. I’ve felt like that baby flamingo with sand-crusted boots so many times in my life, and I had to pick up one foot after the other, turn away from things I loved, and walk away. The steps felt impossible to take, as though giant boulders were tied to my ankles. But each time, I eventually found my way out of dark situations by putting one sand encrusted boot in front of the other.
All this flamingo talk is to say that walking away is OK. Running away can be good. I don’t always believe in confronting your demons. Sometimes the best thing to do is pack a bag, turn around, and take the next flight out of there.