Let Go of the How

THE WEEKS ROLLED BY, AND SMYTHE BEGAN MORE TO FEEL JOY AS she put into practice the baker’s advice. She read, meditated, studied, wrote, developed lesson plans based on her mentor’s teaching, and followed leads for new clientele. Yet, the mundane had begun to settle into an uncomfortable place within her. She had grown accustomed to her unwelcome guest, but found herself in what she thought was a monotonous routine. She limited the time she spent with the baker from several hours per day to a little over an hour and remained in her apartment as much as possible. At the end of the day, she showered and settled into the evening, but every evening also held the same routine. She would read and drift off to sleep in a chair in her living room before cajoling herself out of slumber a few hours later. Padding off to bed, she would sleep for a few more hours before starting a new day.

One early morning, as she and Artie made their way to the baker’s shop, Smythe asked if she could have just a bit more privacy with him than what Artie typically provided to her. To her delight, Artie agreed. The baker smiled widely and, with his usual greeting, welcomed them in. Once Artie determined the shop was safe, she positioned herself in Team 2’s vehicle directly outside the shop with Team 1 posted in the alley.

“What may I offer you?”

“This morning,” she replied, “I’d like some advice.”

He moved gingerly behind one of his display cases and listened intently as she began to speak. He did not lower his gaze nor look in another direction, his gaze piercing deeply into Smythe’s eyes as though reading her very essence. His energy of love and acceptance encompassed Smythe—so much so, it nearly brought her to her knees.

“Ev-Every night is the same,” Smythe began. “After I shower, I plop myself into a horizontal position on my couch or a chair and watch TV with Artie while perusing my emails. Sometimes I read if Artie is still on her tablet, but really, I’m numbing myself out until I am peaceful enough to fall asleep. Slumber comes as it usually does, and then the morning comes as it usually does, and I repeat the day and evening—again and again and again.

“I’ve thought about this behavior, and it occurs to me that I’m in this perpetual cycle of numbing myself. Or, perhaps, I’ve unconsciously developed a rutted routine. At least that’s what I’m sensing. I’m attempting to understand where it’s coming from, but I don’t have answers yet. I enjoy studying and working on my business. But what I know is that I feel this void. I’ve often wondered if I’m doing numbing, and I know others do it—why? Why are we numbing? Hell, Artie and I had a discussion about it. She said that we abdicate thought to numb to fill a void. I just can’t stand it, numbing out that is—especially night after night.”

They both remained silent for a while, allowing the sweet aroma of the air to again still around them.

Finally, the baker spoke. “You will never be enough until you believe you are enough. Now, what may I offer you?” he said, his tongs pointing toward a pastry she had yet to try.

What the hell was that?!

Dumbfounded, she simply made her selection. Once seated, she decided to eat the newfound pastry the baker’s tongs had pointed toward earlier. Her usual selection of malasadas would have to wait. She lifted the delicate pastry to her mouth, taking in the aroma of coriander and cinnamon before taking a bite.

What IS this?! she thought, fighting not to spit it out. The pastry was bitter and dry, and she struggled to swallow it. How and why would he sell this? Did he forget the sugar or honey?

The baker remained behind his display case and nonchalantly observed her while arranging and rearranging his pastries. Choosing not to offend him, she continued to eat the pastry.

The last bite cannot come soon enough.

The baker watched until she ate the final bite. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he quietly sighed.

“In life,” he began, “people often force themselves down the same path every day, even if it disagrees with them. They rarely deviate from it. You are a writer, and for a long time, you forced yourself to remain in the business world. Day after day, you struggled to swallow the bitterness of your job. You could have simply put it down so long ago, but you did not believe you were enough to do what your heart wanted you to do. But you finally listened to it. Yet, you are again unhappy. You will never be enough until you believe you are enough.”

“But I know that I am enough, I just don’t know how to create the life I want,” Smythe said, somewhat surprised at the whining disposition she felt within her.

“The Universe always guides us; you only have to ask. Then, watch and wait for the response and trust the change you wish to make will happen. I will tell you a secret that you will need to hear countless times: the how of the Universe is not in the predictable. Let go of the how, Smythe, and stay in the now.”

The baker brought her a glass of water to wash away the bitter taste of the pastry. He smiled and excused himself for a moment to tend to his creations that sat on cooling racks in the kitchen.

Smythe sat perfectly still for a moment.

Let go of the how. Control. I still want control.

The baker returned and began to add additional pastries to his display case.

“It’s control again.”

“More than that.”

“More than control?”

“Yes. Control is ultimately what you want.”

“I don’t understand. What is more than control?”

“The predictable, for in the predictable lies control. Let go of the predictable. That is what you have noticed, yes?”

“Yes. It’s been a lifetime of it.”

“Yes, for us all. Yet, the joy is discovering the Universe does not live in the predictable. You may shift now. Keep going, my daughter, and do not give up.”

“I will, but I can’t guarantee I won’t swear like a sailor along the way.”

The baker howled in laughter. “My friend, you have made my day.”

Smythe smiled. She wrapped up her original choice of pastry and ordered an additional two dozen malasadas and a coffee. Once the baker completed her order, she bid him a good day and left the shop to see Artie standing right outside the door.

Surprised by her delight in seeing Artie, Smythe smiled and handed Artie a coffee. She bent down and placed a bag on the concrete before reaching in and pulling out a small pastry box.

“Here, this box is for you. I’ll drive so you can eat.”

Picking up the bag that held a second, larger box, she added, “This box is for the other teams.”

She walked over to Team 2’s vehicle and handed the driver the box. She returned to her vehicle, entered in on the driver’s side, and started her engine.

Opening the box, Artie grinned. “You do care.”

Smythe turned to Artie as she fastened her seatbelt.

“I’m sorry, I just needed to talk to Joao alone. It wasn’t about you. It’s just I’ve had this nagging thing inside of me.”

Artie held her first malasada between her fingers, her eyes fixated on the Portuguese sugar-dusted doughnut.

“No explanation needed, I’m just happy you thought of me.”

Smythe headed home, but true to form, rather than remaining on the most direct route, Smythe chose a scenic route to return to her apartment, veering from the caravan. It caused her to lose the lead car instead of remaining sandwiched between the trailing vehicle. The lead car would eventually adjust to the route, and, once again, sandwich her between the other team’s vehicle. This behavior was an annoyance that caused Artie to insist she turn around, take the more direct route, and allow her team to do their job—on more than one occasion.

“It’s too dangerous, Smythe. This area is too crazy remote. It’s beautiful, yes, with its rolling hills, but it’s a needless risk,” Artie had said. Today was no different.

“Smythe! C’mon. Turn it around or pull over and we’ll switch drivers. Those are your only two options. Remember, driving is a privilege that I offer. I can easily revoke it!”

“You’re eating. I’ve got this.”

“No, you don’t got this. I’ve got this. Turn around!”

Smythe continued to drive and watched the passing grassy hillside beside the two-lane road. The road began to gently curve from left to right, lulling her into peace. She noticed the ride was smooth and smiled. It seemed the road had recently been re-paved. This stretch doesn’t allow me to safely pull over. Therefore, Artie’s demand will have to wait, she reasoned.

She continued to drive, longing for the smell of the ocean, remembering the ocean breezes of a few short years ago. She would find a quiet place to park along the side of the road and pull over, often scooting in between an encampment of RV’s. At the beach, she would walk along the ocean’s edge, allowing the water to lap against her ankles, leaving a sandy residue of a thousand lifetimes across her feet. She remembered the coolness of the air as it tingled the hair along her forearms, the scent of salt and sand infusing her spirit.

Her eyes gazed around the rolling hills.

But I’m here. God, am I the only one who always seems so restless? Am I the only one who longs for the vision of my heart to manifest right now?

Smythe thought about her conversations with the baker.

The now versus the how.

She began to understand her restlessness was of her own making. She was wishing for a different future; a future away from where she currently resided.

I could potentially end all of this in the next breath. I could just move. But I am choosing not to, so what’s the answer?

Smythe took in a slow breath and gazed at the beauty around her. She willed herself to begin to appreciate the green hills of the valley. The tiny grasses shooting up from their slumber, the grayness of the sky offering a modicum of cool air. She grinned. It was the only place that was important, and up until now, she was choosing to discount it.

She thought of the city. City folks longed for the countryside, country folk longed for the experience of the city, valley folk longed for the ocean, and ocean folk longed for the valley. They all chose restlessness instead of contentment.

This being in the moment of “what is” sucks!

Smythe continued to drive, and like a feather drifting upon the path of a gentle breeze, her Beloved spoke.

“It is the why.”

Smythe, in an instant, remembered a vision she had one morning shortly after moving to the valley. It was a vision she dismissed, believing it to be the result of her longing to move away from the valley. She remembered feeling stressed and grumpy about the traffic in the valley before experiencing the vision. For her, it was disconcerting to feel a sense of peace while at home, only to drive and experience the aggressive energy coming at her from all sides as she navigated morning or evening traffic. She recalled holding ill will toward those who tailgated her, willing her to go above the speed limit.

In her vision, she sat on the back deck of a farmhouse between a smattering of Monterey Cypress trees and the ocean. Walking into the house, she strode to the front window and peered out. About a quarter mile away, she could see a two-lane road. Four small, quaint shops lined a portion of the street, catering to the occasional tourist who would wander by. As she passed through the living room to return to the deck, she smiled at the eclectic furniture—a mixture of farmhouse and mid-century pieces. She sensed it was her own home. She returned to the deck and sat upon a patio chair with a cup of coffee warming her hands. She noticed her tablet sitting at the table and recognized it as a piece of a novel she was editing. The image was so strong and real that Smythe could smell the mixture of pine needles and ocean air, even hearing the occasional car pass by. She also noticed she could hear the sound of the ocean as it lapped onto the shoreline. Then, the vision abruptly ended.

Here, now, it occurred to her that this energy of the vision she felt caused her to take the back roads often. It was her “why.” She had grown weary of the demonstrative doing, instead of just being, and she longed to remove herself from the drivenness the city residents were demonstrating.

It also occurred to her that her soul’s need was to set in motion an unconscious action to manifest a way to permanently move to this place she held within her heart—a place where this driven energy did not live.

The whisper of her Beloved responded, “It is the why that is important.”

As she felt the feeling which accompanied her why, she felt at peace. It was as if her spirit aligned more fully to this vision of a different environment, and her act of driving along the remote road, here and now, was only practice for what her vision had shown her. Somehow, she knew it was vital in manifesting all that she longed for.

But when?

In that moment, she also experienced an additional truth. It is the heart, the seat of our soul’s desire, that will offer us our why. She knew she had to feel this place fully and wait for inspired thought or action to manifest what she longed for. She also knew she could not rush the timing.

“Patience,” came the reply of her Beloved. “Your freedom lives unbound, regardless of your circumstances.”