Letting go… whatever


I have the hypothesis that all of us come to this planet to learn certain lessons. One of the more annoying lessons bestowed upon me: Learning to let go. F.M.L. You’ve heard people talk about this before: You have to let stuff go for it to come back to you freely, they say, and I shake my head and consider turning around and running away, but then I obviously don’t run away, because that would be a little weird in real life.

In the spirit of focusing on the positive (not really), here is an in-exhaustive list of situations in which I have really sucked at letting go:

1. When my father died. Towards the end of his life, he weighed less than me as a teenager, and sat in a wheelchair, and lay on the bed screaming in pain, and shot himself opiates while listening to Pink Floyd in the living room, and people around us talked about him as though he was dying, and I pleaded with God to keep him alive in nightly prayers, and I couldn’t let go.

2. When the Italian man said, I am not sure I want to be in this relationship anymore. After 3 years he ended things via the phone, like an asshole, while we were 10,000 miles apart and I had just been diagnosed with an autoimmune disease and lost my US visa and my US job and had moved back in with my mother, and for half a year he kept me in gruelling uncertainty, one day telling me he loved me and the next day that he hated me, but never telling me why he didn’t want to be with me anymore, until I finally stumbled upon Instagram pictures taken by another woman in our apartment months ago when all my things were still in that apartment, and I couldn’t let go.

3. When I gained a lot of weight. And when I write “when” I mean in the past two years. It’s what autoimmune conditions of the thyroid gland are all about, they mess up your metabolism, and your feelings, and your hormones, and your everything, and now I am getting treatment and I have lost some of the weight again, but I am still 12kg heavier than I used to be, and it is a struggle that occupies more of my thinking and feeling and energy than I am willing to admit, and I don’t allow myself to be happy until I am skinny again, and they say you ought to love yourself no matter what but I can’t, and I cannot let it go.

I am also thinking that this blog is the very reason I can never become famous, because I imagine all the tabloids gushing and lusting over these very lines, which are way too personal, once I marry some handsome European royal. Not that I was going to anyways.

This week was very eventful. I went back to London for one day of meeting important Google people at important Google meetings on Tuesday, and also met my beloved Caro for lunch. It was the last week at work for my co-worker Emmet, and our team went wake boarding in the canal followed by dinner, which was insane somehow. (Me! Wake boarding!) It also means I am now in charge – because I am taking over Emmet’s job – and that’s scary and exciting at the same time, but more scary than exciting to be honest. I also went to a rooftop party with a nice pool and a nice sunset sometime earlier in the week, I think it was Wednesday.

Depicted in the very first picture at the top of this post is one fine looking group of Googlers from left to right: Kay – the Intern, Danni – the Great Dane, Darren – the Boss, Emmet – the One Who’s Leaving, Petit Moi – the One That’s Me

That’s it. Tips for letting go would be appreciated.

What pool parties are all about. I suppose.

IMG_1931Caro lover loving Google lunch.


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