ELLECANADA.COM 77
PHOTOGRAPHY, OWEN BRUCE
How do I let go?
Danielle Groen realized the power of moving past
the petty grudges that defined her.
I
USED TO collect grievances like they
were Instagram-approved houseplants.
I nursed them the same way too: with a
fussy devotion, tilting them up toward
the light, inspecting every angle, prod-
ding around to see how they’d grown. A friend
flaked on plans for the third straight time. A
neighbour let his dog out to bark late at night.
My mom was thoughtless, or a writer I knew
sold a meaty feature to a renowned publication,
or a writer I didn’t know posted a shot of herself
on a novelty swan float, bright and bobbing off
the Amalfi Coast.
It doesn’t require a ton of
psychological nuance to track
where these grievances sprang
from: I was jealous. I was ab-
sorbed in self-pity. And I was
cowardly. A lifelong allergy to
confrontation meant that I com-
plained instead, at impressive
length, to pretty much anyone
other than the friend or neigh-
bour or mother in question. I
could persuade myself I was do-
ing something about it—I mean,
I was venting, right? That’s cathartic! Except
it didn’t offer any relief, so I’d open up a new
Gchat window or fire off another string of texts,
hunting for validation that I was right to feel
wronged. My Ficus lyrata of resentment grew,
gobbling up my time and attention and leaving
me—I finally realized, looking at the math—with
zero energy left over to do the things that would
actually help, like pitch my own feature to a re-
nowned publication or plan my own vacation to
some seaside Italian town.
I wanted to get back the space in my brain I’d
reserved for envy and grudges, so I took a dif-
ferent approach: Either I’d summon the courageto resolve these personal grievances directly or I
would let them go. I stopped following the writer
who seemed to be on permanent holiday. I told
my friend it hurt when she bailed on dinner, and
she listened. And apologized. And we ordered
wine and moved on. I don’t have the system en-
tirely down yet—there are slights rattling around
from 2015 that still piss me off—but I’m finding
myself less and less in the weeds.
That’s important because there’s plenty in this
world that truly deserves my ire—like once-every-
thousand-years heat waves that now happen every
three years, or boil-water advis-
ories in Indigenous communi-
ties, or sweeping cuts to public
education and the rollback of
inclusive sex ed. These issues
thrive on complacency and de-
mand action and vigilance.
And yet I still want to in-
dulge in a little pettiness now
and then. I just don’t want to
feel cheapened or consumed
by it, which is why I now allot
some of my outrage to the sort
of inconsequential trash that the
internet does so well. Give me a new wife guy
to gleefully savage! Why in God’s name would
Gwyneth sell that jade vagina egg? I’m deep
enough into the rumours of Prince William’s af-
fair with the Marchioness of Cholmondeley that I
know how to pronounce Cholmondeley (it is not
how you’d think) and have devised an airtight
plan for Kate to dump his royal ass. I can shrink
these grievances to the size of a hobby; they no
longer feel like a full-time job. And that lets me
reclaim my time for the issues, projects and con-
versations that really matter—with a bit of in-
dignant energy left over for the guy who wants a
trophy because he loves his curvy wife. hI still want to
indulge in a little
pettiness now and
then. I just don’t
want to feel
cheapened or
consumed by it.