Every time I told Wil to "put on a nice shirt," he put on his favorite green polo that I got at Target for $12.00. Possibly $15.00. It went to church many times, most birthday parties, the occasional potluck, and school picture day. When I took it out of the dryer a couple of weeks ago, I saw that his Clearasil had gotten the better of it, and it was yellow in places it should have been green.
"Bad news," I told him, "I have to give away your favorite green shirt."
"Uh huh," he said, not looking up from his iPad, upon which he was happily engrossed in iHeartRadio.
"Wil, look at the shirt, your favorite one, you're not going to have it anymore," I said.
"Okay," he said.
"WIL! Are you listening? Your favorite shirt is ruined and I'm getting rid of it! You will be without it! Do you understand?"
"CARE! I GET IT! TOSS THE DAMN THING!" he said.
Wil has had a string of people tell him lately that they are leaving. His favorite gal at his favorite frozen yogurt place told us this was her last day. His favorite counselor at school told him he was leaving at the end of this year. One of his favorite teachers at school that has been there for almost two years to smooth the way for him, she, too, is moving on. It's not looking good for him to work in the preschool this summer, as he has the past two. The teacher is going to retire.
He has taken each of these news flashes in stride with no kick back, no fussing, no sweat, and no apparent grief even. Total and complete acceptance of what is.
I was going to say that Wil is happy because he's learned to let go, but that's not true at all. To let go, you have to have held on at one point, at least. What he is is unattached.