Blog
Ash and Attachment
by Barbara
May 19, 2010
This guest blog was written by Barbara Govednik.
If tea leaves can give a glimpse into the future, could flecks of ash offer insights on attachment to an outcome?
Absolutely.
Last month, I was stuck in London longer than expected when the ash cloud from the Eyjafjallajokull volcano eruption hovered thick and unyielding over British airspace. I didn’t think much of it at first. My husband and I arrived Thursday, the same day as the ash cloud, but we had taken the train from Paris. There was no impact on our travels, just lots of anticipation for a fun weekend with a dear friend.
By Sunday, though, the cloud hadn’t budged, Heathrow Airport was a ghost town and the closest cities with functioning airports were Madrid and Rome. No one knew when things would clear. A queasiness grew within me as I ate breakfast and tried to read the papers. But the news couldn’t compete with the relentless chant in my head “When will we get home? When will we get home? When will we get home?”
On Sunday afternoon, United cancelled our Monday flight.
Logically, I knew that leaving on time had been unlikely, but it wasn’t until the flight was officially cancelled that it became apparent how completely attached I was to the outcome of getting home, and getting home as close to “on schedule” as possible. I was so attached, the situation felt catastrophic. My mind spun with Plan B options of somehow getting to Madrid and magically booking a flight despite the throngs of people already there or the continued spread of the ash cloud. My friends laughed at my idea of booking an ocean liner to make the crossing the old-fashioned way, but I wasn’t joking.
Nor was I letting the facts of the situation interfere with my rampant attachment. And the facts were pretty simple:
- I couldn’t vacuum up the ash cloud and clear the air for planes to fly again.
- I own my business, set my own schedule and am a writer so I can work from anywhere there is an Internet connection.
- My husband made arrangements to work as much as he could virtually.
- We didn’t have kids or pets or other dependents waiting for us at home.
- Although we hadn’t budgeted for extra days in an expensive city, we had some emergency funds stashed away.
Once I was able to see the truth of what was and we started to arrange our new reality (doing laundry, settling into a hotel room with a kitchen, clearing our schedules, buying a few groceries) my attachment released. It was gradual, like when you pull open Velcro slowly and it lets go loop by loop, but it happened. The day’s question moved from “how am I going to get out of here?” to “what should I see in London today?”
The airports eventually opened and we came home five days later than originally planned. During my extra time in London, I saw some great sights, bought a few souvenirs and came home with a new awareness of how limiting attachment to an outcome can be. It clouds your ability to see the possibilities right in front of you.
Barbara Govednik
Writer, Writing Coaching, Communication Strategist
www.423communication.com
www.423communication.wordpress.com
Well said Barbara. And we’re all glad you are home.
I use to think attachment meant passion, commitment, attempts to prove a point or to be right. I learned in recent years attachment as you say, clouds my ability, which for me, sometimes came from a place of feeling vulnerable or afraid. Learning the ability to step back, take stock of what is truly so and release the attachment is how I now reclaim my power and inner peace.