Letting go with bravery and grace — lessons from a linen chest

The teakwood chest at the house where I grew up in Pennsylvania always felt a bit magical, despite its prosaic use for storing table linens. Its dark paneled sides were carved with scenes of faraway people, and it had a peculiar brass lock that worked by sliding two pieces together. Only a special rectangular key would open it, and my mother put the fear of God into us about never, ever sliding the lock together without being absolutely positive we knew where the key was.

Teakwood chest as of August, sans lock

When it was my turn to help change the dining table linens, I would slide open the lock with the special key and lift the lid, then pick out a new favorite tablecloth and napkins before closing and locking it again. Sometimes I traced my fingers over the people’s faces and robes and the distinctive round leaves on the carved trees, enjoying the tactile sensation. These carvings had dimension, making it seem as though the people actually lived there in the wood instead of just subsisting on the surface.

The story was the chest came from Korea, or possibly Japan, when my grandfather was stationed overseas in the late ‘40s and early ’50s.

My grandfather, a colonel in the Army, was also a faraway person. He lived in mysterious California with his second wife, my Grandma Peggy. I sent them thank-you letters for my birthday and Christmas gifts, but remember meeting him only once, when they parked their shiny Airstream trailer in front of our house for a weeklong visit.

Me at age three on my dad’s lap, with the teakwood chest on the right. My sister is in the kimono that was my mother’s when she was a child living in Japan.

I don’t know when or how my mother ended up with the teakwood chest¹, but it was always there, eventually moving across the country to Las Vegas with us in the early ‘80s.

Mom has been gone for a dozen years now, and even when she was alive my parents had since converted to easy-care vinyl tablecloths and no-iron (or paper!) napkins. But the teakwood chest still occupied a prominent spot, most recently in their master bedroom for the past twenty-five years.

Last month I sold it to a stranger.

As regular readers might know, we moved my dad from Las Vegas to an apartment in a senior living facility near me in California about seven months ago. He’s settled in well, but my sister and I have been working on closing out his Las Vegas house ever since.

It has been one long lesson in letting go.

You’d think it wouldn’t be so hard to let go of things. Things don’t have feelings, they don’t love you back, and as the saying goes, you can’t take them with you.

But my oh my do they have so much meaning.

I had no practical use for the teakwood chest, and no place I could justify the space it would take in my house. Neither did my sister. It would have to go in the estate sale planned for everything we didn’t keep. But thinking about letting it go left my stomach in knots.

That’s when I saw that my writer friend (and Be Your Own Hero Reader!) Peg Conway was holding her 90-minute Making Space online workshop, subtitled “Rituals for Clearing and Releasing Stuff.” I knew I had to sign up.

In the workshop, Peg asked participants to focus on one object we were having strong feelings about letting go. She then guided us through a series of gentle writing prompts to explore with curiosity different aspects of feeling, experience, possibility, and legacy the object brought up. All without judgment as to whether it would be released or not.

I wrote about the teakwood chest. By the end of the process, I realized the knot in my stomach was from a sense of betraying a tangible connection to my grandfather, whom I loved but didn’t know very well. It was also tied to grieving the loss of childhood magic.

I also realized I could find other ways to connect to the memory of my grandfather and remember with fondness that sense of mystery and magic the chest held for me. I didn’t have to hold on to the actual object. I could release the teakwood chest into the world without regret.

And so a month ago, it went in the estate sale. Someone in Las Vegas took it home with them, and I hope they enjoy it for years to come.

I’d be lying if I said I don’t still get a little choked up thinking about letting it go. But I don’t regret it. And going through this process helped me tap into feelings I probably wouldn’t have taken the energy to articulate otherwise.

Feeling your feelings enough to write about them is not easy, especially when they arise from grief and loss. It requires what author

Jessica Handler

calls braving the fire. Are you willing to hold your hand over the flame of grief while you suss out what is behind it?

The bittersweet reward is to then let that feeling go. And then go through the process over and over again as often as is needed. Fortunately,² life never stops giving us opportunities to practice letting go with bravery and grace.

Timely alert!

Peg is holding her Making Space workshop again in just over a week, on October 26 from 10 - 11:30 am Pacific/ 1 - 2:30 pm Eastern. Whether you’re working on clearing out a whole house or just a closet, I highly recommend taking an hour and a half to walk through her unique approach³. Oh, and P.S. she only offers this workshop twice a year. I’ll be attending again, so if you sign up I’ll see you there!

What I’m Reading

I know nothing about women’s basketball. Or at least I didn’t before I read Hoop Muses⁴ by author, sports reporter, and former ESPN commentator Kate Fagan. She spoke at a panel at the San Diego Festival of Books last year and impressed the hell out of me, so I picked up her book, subtitled “An insider’s guide to pop culture and the (women’s) game”.

In that panel discussion, Fagan called bullshit on the tired excuse that more people don’t watch women’s basketball because “it isn’t as exciting” as men’s basketball. She made the point that what drives our interest in sports is stakes and storylines.

Just think of any obscure Olympic sport that suddenly becomes riveting, or when your kid’s Little League championship on the line. And in the world of national pro sports, it is corporate effort and media attention that spreads the stories and builds up the stakes.

Hoop Muses is an engaging and easy read, accompanied by lots of sidebars, pull quotes and illustrations. It brought me up to speed on both the origin of the women’s game⁵ and the stories, stakes, and personalities that make it — yes — exciting!⁶

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So there you have it, my friends. Is there an object that has taught you about letting go? I’d love to know your experiences. Reply to this email or leave a comment below. All respectful discussion is welcome.

1. It was always known as “the teakwood chest,” never “the teak chest” or “the linen chest.” Teakwood was just its name; it was years before I realized teak was a kind of wood.

2. ???

3. Registration also grants you access to a recording if you can’t be online at the time, but it’s much better live.

4. Affiliate link for Bookshop.org. In 2024 all affiliate earnings go to support The Strong-Hearted Native Women’s Coalition of San Diego.

5. Like how in the late 1800s the court for women was divided into sections. Players could not leave their section lest they exert themselves too much 🙄.

6. Just in time for the WNBA Finals between the NY Liberty and Minnesota Lynx