How a 4.5 Month Old Taught Me Non-Attachment

And why non-clinging might be a better term

She asked if we could come for the weekend to watch the baby. She had to come up to Albany for her Reserve’s Drill weekend and needed help. You don’t have to ask us twice.

After a little hiccup with a bottle, we quickly got into a groove. An every 2.5 hour groove.

Wake. Eat. Burp. Eat. Burp. Diaper change. Fun. Sleep.

He’s beautiful and amazing and we couldn’t be more in love with him. But I didn’t go into the weekend thinking I was going to have some profound spiritual shift. I was thinking I was just going to love on my grandson.

In between “Fun” and “Sleep” came rocking and singing. I mostly sing made-up songs to him, usually the same ones.

“Goodnight, Ronan. Goodnight Baby. Goodnight Ronan. It’s time to say goodnight.”

But in the midst of trying to rock him to sleep, I stopped. I took in his littleness. His body relaxed and his breathing changed and he was asleep in my arms. And I started crying.

I started crying at the finality of it. His 4.5 month old self, already becoming someone else. One second older. Another second older. I didn’t want to think about how he was never going to be this little self again. Second by second he was changing.

And I was attached to what was.

Until I wasn’t.

I realized in that moment, “Ah, this is what non-attachment means.”

This concept is spectacularly important because for my personality type, we get very attached and it is our Virtue to get to a place of non-attachment.

Easier said than done.

I’ve spent my whole life attached to what was.

I hate New Year’s.

I don’t like when classes end.

I don’t like when books end.

Or a TV series that I love.

Or my children growing.

Or my husband and I getting older.

Do I need to keep going? You get the idea. I bet you can come up with your own list of attachments, too. So this realization, in this beautiful moment of being with my grandson, affected me so deeply that I understood non-attachment. I no longer held onto the big bummer that he is growing before my eyes, but the wonder of the moment. And this moment. And this moment. Not attached to it. Just the is-ness of it. Not caught up in the was-ness.

I posed this question to my Learning Lab. We meet every two weeks and discuss big topics. This one particularly landed with the group. I was curious about the different perspectives on non-attachment. I was relieved to learn it wasn’t just a Five thing. It’s an everyone thing. My experience is just different than yours.

Our personalities protect us. They are designed to protect us. This means we get attached. But this also means that because of our different lenses, we don’t always know the way out. Most of us are walking around trying to control (attach), trying to cling to an outcome.

Here is what letting go looks like depending on your type.

Type 1 — Serenity: Lets go of needing to fix and correct by accepting that reality is already unfolding as it should.

Type 2 — Humility: Releases the need to be indispensable by acknowledging their own needs and limits.

Type 3 — Authenticity: Drops the curated image by trusting that their real self is enough without performance.

Type 4 — Equanimity: Stops clinging to emotional intensity by allowing feelings to come and go without identifying with them.

Type 5 — Non-Attachment: Loosens the grip on hoarding knowledge and energy by trusting that engagement won’t deplete them.

Type 6 — Courage: Releases the need for certainty by acting with inner trust even when doubt remains.

Type 7 — Sobriety: Lets go of chasing future possibilities by staying fully with what is here now.

Type 8 — Innocence: Drops the armor of control by allowing themselves to be open, soft, and affected.

Type 9 — Right Action: Releases the urge to disappear into comfort by showing up fully for their own life.

The takeaway: a Learning Lab participant shared the idea of changing the language from non-attachment to non-clinging. That helps a ton. And take a good look next time you are clinging. There is a way out but you’ll need some awareness before that happens.

This too shall pass.

All of it. The hard stuff and the beautiful stuff alike.

And somewhere in a rocking chair on a Saturday afternoon, holding a sleeping baby, I learned that passing isn’t the same as losing. It never was.