Time to surrender

Knowing when to surrender is an underrated skill.

As we grow older, we learn the value of letting go.

We learn out of necessity.

We come to terms with the passage of time.

We accept the randomness of life.

We learn to deal with things beyond our control that hit us hard.

We embrace life's impartial hand, not out of malice.

Life, luck, and time—all those factors that shape our existence—are much like nature.

Nature holds beauty.

Nature also evokes fear.

How can this be?

I believe it's because nature is indifferent.

It lacks emotions.

It doesn't rethink its actions just because something upsets us.

It simply exists, much like an iceberg that continues moving forward, regardless of obstacles.

Nature isn't malevolent.

However, it won't refrain from causing us harm either.

This mirrors much of life: events occur, whether we feel deserving or not.

Hence, surrendering becomes an essential skill, despite its infrequent discussion.

Zen Buddhism introduces three constant choices.

They're limited to three: acceptance, rejection, or change.

Most of us aren't fond of these options.

We'd rather grumble or resist.

Alternatively, we might opt to ignore things, hoping for a different outcome.

But these choices are superficial.

Acceptance sometimes means surrendering and facing something painful, allowing us to move forward.

Since my father passed away, I've spent significant time evading that truth.

I've kept myself occupied with work to avoid acknowledging his absence.

I understand that I will need to make a better choice eventually.

I haven't reached that point yet.

But I'm hopeful because dismissing something real feels having a gaping gunshot wound by waving off the medics because what wound.

Life is not fair because it doesn't care to be.

Occasionally, accepting the L is needed to move on.

Is it simple? Is life simple?