What Does Not Last Leads Us To What Does

By. Becca Carruci

This is the fourth essay from a collection called “Rightful Places: Stories of Coming Home to Myself.” I haven’t always felt at home in my existence, my body or my life and have spent a lot of time looking externally for a place of belonging. I have come to learn that we must begin the journey to peace by looking within, examining our souls and discovering what exists there. Somewhere between the bravery to dive deep, the grief of the losses we face and the freedom there after, within the mundane and the extraordinary we will discover soon that we have indeed found our rightful place. My deepest hope is that between and within the lines of these five essays you become a step closer to a true home within, the place we are all longing for. Yours, Becca. 

At the beginning of California’s lockdown, back in March, I spent a lot of time on a bench in Corona Del Mar that overlooks the ocean. I would sleep in, make coffee, and drive to my post to read, think, stare and listen to music. Some days I’d sit there for hours trying to make sense of what was becoming our “new norm.” Sitting still is hard for me, so these bench sessions that would last for hours proved to be difficult for me. But I knew if I didn’t allow myself to take time to reflect on the massive shift taking place individually and collectively, I would be remiss. I know the part of me that struggles to simply be is speaking to a place deep within. If I’m honest, that deeper place is my temptation to avoid the here and now. My brain usually exists in the past or the future. Like many of us, I have been abruptly confronted with the fragility of our lives over the last five months, the reality that so much is not guaranteed, so much is impermanent. But what I have come to see about the truth of impermanence is that when we stare it in the eyes it need not lead us to a bleak place, but rather a place in which we take a posture of humility, where we can radically accept what is in front of us: this very moment.

The task at hand of looking at what is in front of us is not simple. All you need to do is check in with yourself at this very moment to recognize that. Are you on your phone reading this essay avoiding work, avoiding responding to someone? I know if I checked in more regularly I’d find that I spend far too many hours of my days checking out. One of the most glaringly obvious examples of this in my life is that the topic of impermanence has been on my mind since March. Yet, here I am in July, for the first time, sitting down and taking this idea seriously. I have come to this page countless times, only to be overwhelmed by the task of looking at it in the eyes, and therefore distracting myself with something else. What I am getting at here is that the temptation to avoid what is difficult has taken over for the last five months of my life. On some level, I knew that writing this out would cause me to grieve certain losses and look at realities that are painful, so I’ve zoned out and opted for a lot of perceived comfort during this unruly lockdown. 

I know that compassion abounds for all of us as we navigate the somberness that is pervasive within each day of 2020 and yet I wonder if we’ve cloaked avoidance in the alluring and popular cover titled “self care” to make the days a bit easier. I know that was the case for me during a lot of quarantine. Rough day? Glass of wine. Overwhelmed? Hours of scrolling. This isn’t always the path of true self care or regard for our soul. What I know now that I didn’t know during those early days in March, is that my soul, as per usual, holds the things that I truly need to look at and examine. The theme of impermanence has appeared far too many times in my life lately for it to be just coincidental which is usually a clue that it is something I need to look at rather than avoid. 

An overwhelming amount of what exists inside and outside of all of us is fragile enough that it could be taken away in a matter of seconds. In my most anxious moments, this is the line that resounds in my head - what I love and who I love is finite so you better grip tight, Becca! In my therapy one of the main things that was brought up was my fear of losing people and being alone. This fear was often crippling for me growing up. When I was younger, if my parents went on a trip without my brother and me, I would be left sobbing for hours with the fear that they wouldn’t come home. I couldn’t understand it, couldn’t get rid of it, and it felt like it was growing with each year of my life as I realized there is so much that is out of my control. 

This lack of control was highlighted in March when my parents happened to have a trip planned to see me the weekend that California went on lockdown. It was supposed to be a belated birthday trip, but it quickly turned into a weekend of preparation as all of us suddenly faced so much that was unknown. At one point, my parents thought they would have to drive back to Washington when flights began to get cancelled. With each passing hour, the world became more chaotic. This chaos became apparent when we were in target trying to buy essentials when the stability of familiarity gave out. This place that I came to weekly to shop looked ravaged. There was nothing. Nothing. It was a symbol at large of the territory we were moving into. It felt impossible to stare at the question right in front of me, in front of so many of us: who would I be if everything that once felt permanent was taken away? I started crying in aisle 5. Gently, my mom said we’d just go to another store to find what we needed. 

This was the week I started going to my lookout post in Corona. I had to see the ocean. I needed the visual of something massive, something beyond myself. It was the place I started to realize there is a breadth of value to be found in sinking deep into impermanence. At its surface it does look bleak. But at its core, its truest place, it has led me to be present in the here and now. Ironically, for years it’s been the most avoided place because it used to leave me tearful and scared. When my life shouts that level of fear, I allow that side of me to hold back in relationships, in work, in the things that are good for me. The truth that nothing is tangibly permanent used to leave my heart achy. I wanted permanence. Stability. I want to make it out alive. The truth is those things will never be found in the places most of us are searching. It’s the kind of truth that knocks you to your knees and rearranges the hidden places in our hearts. But learning how to know and accept what does not last has led me to what does, the places of permanence that I so deeply longed for when the chaos began in March.

First, I had to learn to navigate my fear of impermanence with kindness. There was always so much frustration with myself. I had to learn to love it. To welcome it in. Much of my rightful place was found in the truth that I am finite, the very thing that I feared so much. And so is everything and everyone else. In fact all of creation, through its rhythms, textures and colors is announcing loudly that this process of impermanence is natural and that we actually need it. When that sunset you watch fades from nuclear red to a soft grey, let it be a reminder that it is a good thing to be finite. To let go. God, I’ve had to let go. I’ve had to let go of the illusion of control. This temptation to manufacture a sense of knowing the outcome of our lives is natural, it makes sense. It is the most sensitive and young place in all of us. But it’s not what you need anymore.

Our efforts to contain render pointless at the end of the day. What I found in exchange for controlling and containment was even better than any of this being guaranteed to me. When we let go of gripping our lives to the point of white knuckles, we begin to breathe properly again. We begin to experience the fullness of love that this life can offer. And in that fullness, we find something that is long lasting, something that can go beyond ourselves. A tie to eternity that brings us home, that brings the loudness of control to the calmness of acceptance. It is only in the let go of trying to make things permanent that we can experience the sense of ease we’re searching for in the first place. It is not revolutionary to orchestrate your life, look no further than instagram to see that. It is revolutionary to look at the entirety of your life and then to look at this very moment for what it is, bless both, and be here now -- it’s all we have, and all we have is good. 

Becca Carucci works as a therapeutic specialist at a mental health clinic in Southern California and is currently pursuing a Masters degree in Organizational Psychology. Her passion for people having a deeper understanding of their stories began in 2013 when she moved to Ethiopia to work with women and children who had been victims of human trafficking. Since then her life has brought her on a journey of self discovery that has only deepened the desire to partner alongside people as they uncover more about themselves in order to live fuller and more meaningful lives. She enjoys writing and can be found most often holding an americano in one hand, a book in the other with The National playing in her headphones. Instagram: beccacarucci .