This is the phrase we all hear when we’re going through a difficult time.
It’s supposed to remind us of the big picture of life.
It’s supposed to remind us our current situation is temporary, no matter how dire it seems at the time.
It’s supposed to remind us to hang in there.
But I’ve been thinking.
It also applies to our great times. Those precious moments, those successes, those accomplishments, those unforgettable memories.
This too shall pass.
Since the good moments are just as fleeting and temporary as what we like to call the bad ones, doesn’t that also remind us of the fragility, the fleetingness, and the brevity of life?
It does for me.
I came to this sobering analysis while nursing my six-month-old. This indescribable mother-baby bond just blows me away. It humbles me, it honors me, and I just want to capture it somehow.
I don’t want to remember it. I want to hold on to it.
In response to my desire to hold on, I remind myself I need to let go. Not just of this, but of every other amazing moment in my life.
This too shall pass.
I know there is no holding on. There is just showing up.
All I can do is show up. All I can do is dig deeper than I’ve ever dug and become radically present for these precious moments, because when they’re gone they’re gone.
And I will rest more peacefully at the end of my life knowing I showed up for my life than if I have a mind full of memories that I was never fully present for.
There’s a poem by Mary Oliver that I love called In Blackwater Woods.
The portion that speaks to me is this:
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it
go,
to let it go.
That is my work in this lifetime.
Hold it close.
And let it go.
monique minahan 