Loosen the Reigns on Your Own Life

On Dolly Parton, taking up space, and allowing yourself to live a bigger life

Yesterday, Dolly Parton died, and I have been surprisingly sad about it. Not because I was a huge fan of her music. I think I am sad because I really liked and respected the way Dolly Parton lived.

She seemed to understand something that I am still learning: It is possible to be the biggest star in your universe while also being just warm enough to be gentle to the people around you.

We are allowed to actually be here, in this existence, with whatever our version is of big hair, big personality, and even big boobs.

We are our ideas, our dreams, our generosity, our ambitions, and our creativity.

There was something about Dolly that always seemed to say, This is who I am. I’m going to enjoy being her. Somehow, she managed to make all of that bigness feel sweet and approachable.

Dolly leaves behind a legacy of extraordinary generosity. She lived brightly, and other people benefited from the brightness. Maybe that’s why losing people like her has made me feel unexpectedly sad. It isn’t only that a person died. It’s that a particular kind of light went out. And maybe, for those of us still here, there is something worth noticing in that.

I have spent a lot of my own life trying not to be too much. Trying to be palatable. Trying to anticipate what other people might think before deciding what I wanted to say, wear, create, do, or become. I have hidden pieces of myself because hiding can feel safer than being seen. And when you do that long enough, you can start holding the reins of your own life so tightly that you don’t even realize you’re the one keeping yourself from moving.

That’s what I’ve been thinking about since yesterday: How much of my life have I spent trying to control myself? Don’t say too much. Don’t want too much. Don’t look ridiculous. Don’t embarrass yourself. Don’t make people uncomfortable. Don’t let them misunderstand you. Don’t be too loud. Don’t be too visible. Don’t be too much. Pull the reins and stay within the fence.

But I am here to encourage you and myself to say: fuck that fence.

I also want you to remember that even if you believe in reincarnation, this version of you, this time in this matrix comes to an end at some point.

We do not have unlimited time to be ourselves. There will eventually be a last outfit, a last idea, a last ridiculous thing we decide to try, a last person we help, a last joke, and a last ordinary Tuesday. I don’t find that thought depressing. Right now, I find it clarifying.

Because maybe the goal isn’t to reach the end of life having successfully avoided embarrassment. Maybe the goal is to use what we were given: to make things, love people, help where we can, wear the damn rhinestones if we want to, let our personalities spill outside the lines a little, and allow ourselves the extraordinary privilege of becoming more fully ourselves while we’re still here.

Dolly Parton’s life was enormous, not simply because she was famous. It was enormous because she seemed willing to let it be enormous. That’s different.

And maybe that’s why the death of someone you’ve never met can hurt. Sometimes when a good person dies, you aren’t grieving any relationship you did or could have had with them. Sometimes you’re grieving what they represented. And sometimes their leaving holds up a mirror to what you actually need to start doing with your own life.

I’m still here. So what am I going to do with that? I don’t have a complete answer yet, but I think I want to loosen the grip on my own reigns.

I want to stop pulling myself back every time some part of me wants to run toward something. I want to create more, say more, try more, give more, laugh more, and be seen more. I want to stop treating my own light like something that needs to be carefully controlled.

So maybe that’s what I will take from the sadness I’ve felt since Dolly Parton died: a little reminder from a woman with enormous hair, enormous talent, enormous generosity, and absolutely no apparent interest in disappearing into the void: Loosen the reins on your own life.

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