65: The Discipline of Allowing

For most of my life, I thought discipline meant doing.

Wake up early.

Follow the plan.

Keep working when I am tired.

Stay focused when others become distracted.

Set a goal and organize my time, energy, and attention around achieving it.

This kind of discipline is powerful. It helps us develop skills, overcome difficulties, and accomplish things that once seemed impossible. Much of what we build in the first half of life may depend on it.

But recently, I have begun to wonder whether there is another kind of discipline that becomes increasingly important as life matures.

The discipline of allowing.

For someone accustomed to achievement, allowing can feel almost irresponsible.

If I have free time, I should use it.

If I have a problem, I should solve it.

If I feel sad, I should understand why and move beyond it.

If I travel, I should accomplish something.

Even rest can quietly become another project: recover efficiently so that I can return to being productive.

But perhaps not everything in life needs to produce something.

Perhaps there are times when the most important thing we can do is make room.

Make room for sadness without immediately trying to remove it.

Make room for a conversation without needing it to lead anywhere.

Make room for solitude without demanding an answer.

Make room for beauty without photographing it.

Make room for prayer without asking for anything.

Make room for an afternoon that accomplishes absolutely nothing.

This is surprisingly difficult.

Doing gives us control.

Allowing requires us to loosen our grip.

For many years, I thought living fully meant using my abilities as effectively as possible. Now I am beginning to think that living fully may also mean giving life enough empty space to reveal something I could never have planned.

A walk may awaken an unexpected thought.

A quiet meal with an old friend may reveal something about ourselves that years of professional achievement could not.

A period of solitude may not give us an answer at all. It may simply make our heart a little quieter.

None of these experiences are productive in the usual sense.

Yet they may be deeply formative.

Perhaps this is part of what it means to live as ourselves.

When we are constantly achieving, we can gradually become the person our responsibilities require us to be. We perform our roles well, meet expectations, and continue moving forward.

But underneath all those roles, there is still a person.

That person may need time when nothing is required.

No title.

No performance.

No explanation.

No measurable result.

Just being.

I do not think this means abandoning discipline.

Perhaps it means expanding our understanding of discipline.

There is a discipline of pushing forward.

And there is a discipline of leaving space.

There is a discipline of holding on.

And there is a discipline of opening our hands.

There is a discipline of making things happen.

And there is a discipline of allowing something unexpected to arrive.

Maybe the second half of life requires more of this kind of strength.

Not becoming passive.

Not losing purpose.

But becoming spacious enough that purpose no longer has to be forced.

Perhaps the sequence becomes simpler:

Make room. Listen. Discover. Integrate. Contribute.

And sometimes, before asking what we should accomplish next, we might ask a gentler question:

What might enter my life if I stopped filling every available space?