Letting go of what I like

I prefer high-fat ice cream to gelato, soft serve, and custard. I prefer to eat it slowly, in a cup rather than a cone. I prefer brands that have no corn syrup or stabilizers. And none of that really matters. (Image by Steve Buissinne)

The first time my nephew came to visit us in Maine, he kept count of the number of different boats he had been on.

By the end of the first day, he was up to four, including the two he had simply stepped onto for a little while when they were tied up at the dock.

“You’re becoming a boatman!” his grandmother said.

“Maybe I’m turning into a boy who likes boats instead of superheroes,” he said.

Watching a child explore the world brings up intriguing questions of identity. We can form our ideas about who we are very early in life. I don’t like this kind of cheese. I support this football team and not that one. I’m a chatterbox.

From the work of Eknath Easwaran, I learned the radical notion that I don’t have to be defined by my likes and dislikes. I don’t even have to accept certain traits as permanent aspects of my personality. I can let go of all of these things to become a more flexible and joyful person.

It was hard to get my head around this at first. My tastes and preferred activities were part of who I was. Who would I be without them?

However, having kept these ideas in mind over the last two decades, I see their wisdom. I’ve observed two processes happening in tandem: Even as my palate has become more refined, I’ve gotten better at practicing a measure of detachment. In other words, though I have developed ever more specific preferences, things don’t have to be exactly the way I want them in order for me to be content. The range of what I can tolerate has expanded, and I am more adaptable and easygoing.

I sometimes wonder if it’s easier now to roll with things because I have more control over my life. Because I can always make a meal to my exact specifications, it becomes novel and interesting, rather than threatening, to see what kind of meal someone else will make for me. It’s an opportunity for learning, expansion, and connection. If I don’t like the meal, I can grab a snack later—it’s not a power struggle in which I must go to bed without dessert.

I also have less to prove. For instance, I don’t need to say, “this band rules, that band sucks” to show the world that I know music. All I have to do now is pick up an instrument and play. I no longer care whether what I’m listening to is hip or not, and it’s not as important to me to curate my collection. Wherever I am, if music is playing, I accept it for what it is.

Even though I have more control over my own life and choices, I’ve learned over the years the limits of my power. If I’m less attached to the things I like, I spend a lot less time being frustrated that things are being done a different way, and I can handle it when things don’t go as planned. This ability to embrace reality has certainly come in handy during the pandemic, when very little proceeded as I might have wished. In the midst of difficult circumstances, I was able to find peace.

I used to get upset when someone gave me the “wrong” gift or purchased the “wrong” brand of a product at the store. I was ruled by my preferences and attachments. It didn’t make me a happier person. But this petulance wasn’t a permanent personality trait. It wasn’t me, any more than my selection of breakfast cereal. My true self transcends such earthly concerns, and over time I learned to reflect that fact in my behavior. What if we don’t have to be like Jacob Marley and wear the chains we forged in life? Maybe we don’t even need to forge them in the first place.

My nephew can enjoy boats without being a boatman, per se. And he can enjoy boats and superheroes at the same time—he doesn’t have to choose. There are so many adventures ahead for him—he can stay open to every one. In fact, so can I.