Any one who’s ever been in love can attest to the power of attachment. It’s easy to understand, after all our first attachment occured as babies to our mothers. Attachment–a feeling that bonds a person to another creating the desire for repeated interactions with that person, can be a source of intense pleasure, or as in the case of unrequited love, great pain.
Although this hasn’t been the case for me, a person can also be attached to things. Three years ago, when I relocated from MN, I left behind a house, all of my property with the exception of a few select items (a bed, my children’s favorite toys, and cooking utensils.) Yet, despite a decade’s worth of accumulation, I haven’t missed a thing. Or when I think about the sales process involved in the car I purchased today, and Jose the salesman’s futile attempts to get me to view this vehicle as something other than transportation.
Me, I’d get attached to people. In the past, I’d experience this intense desire to be welded to lovers, or cool people I’d just met. I mean like become an integral part of their lives. After all I’m a fixer by nature and I could so improve their lives (while putting mind on hold.) In retrospect, it all seems quite silly and a bit desperate. How draining these interactions must’ve been for those involved.
So nice, this being able to look back detachedly.