The Theater of Life

Loving Yourself in the Grand Performance of Life

Lately, I’ve felt as if I’m seated in the velvet shadows of a theater, watching life play out on a grand stage. The chaos, the joys, the sorrows—they unfold before me, vivid yet strangely distant, like scenes in a play I’ve stepped out of. I was discussing this with a friend this week, who also experiences this same feeling, of what we initially called neutrality. Life unfolds around us in its ups and downs, and yet, we remain unswayed. But as I reflected more, I realized it’s something deeper. Neutrality feels like an absence of emotion, a kind of indifference. That’s not what this is. I still feel everything—the highs and lows—but they move through me like waves, washing over me without pulling me under.

This state isn’t neutrality—it’s detachment.

Detachment often gets a bad reputation, as if it means being cold or unfeeling. But it’s not about rejecting emotion or experience. It’s about cultivating love and security within yourself so that you’re not at the mercy of external events. It’s seeing the world as it is—without needing to grasp for validation or fearing what might slip away.

I’ve come to understand that detachment and self-love are deeply intertwined. When our worth is tied to external things—relationships, achievements, possessions—we rise and fall with their changes. Detachment begins when we stop outsourcing our sense of self to the world around us.

But how do we begin to love ourselves in a way that fosters this freedom? It starts with forgiveness.

We cannot truly love what we haven’t forgiven. Forgiving ourselves for our flaws, missteps, and humanity is where self-love begins. How can we embrace something we resent or fear? Without that acceptance, we remain bound to our own judgments, mistaking them for truths.

Forgiveness doesn’t excuse our flaws or pretend they don’t exist—it meets them with compassion. I think back to when I moved to Berlin, a time filled with excitement and upheaval, and my cat became gravely ill. I remember holding her in my arms, the weight of her small body heavy with exhaustion, and feeling the unbearable guilt crushing me. I hated myself for missing the signs, for being so consumed by my own life that I didn’t see hers slipping away. Euthanizing her was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and for a long time, I couldn’t forgive myself for it.

But eventually, I found it in my heart to say, “You were doing the best you could with what you knew at the time.” That simple act of grace felt like unshackling a heavy chain—a chain of guilt and self-judgment that kept me tethered to the past. Through that experience, and many others, I began to see how forgiveness opens the door to self-love. It’s not just about letting go of guilt—it’s about making space for compassion, for bringing light to the darkest corners of our soul. And when we start to see ourselves in that light, something remarkable happens: our capacity to love others deepens. If we can extend love to our own shadows, how much more easily can we extend it to others?

I used to hear the phrase, “You can only love others when you love yourself,” and dismiss it as a cliché. I thought, Surely I love others—what does that have to do with me? But over time, I realized that while I could care deeply for others, the depth of my love was limited by how deeply I knew and accepted myself.

Often, what we call “love” is born from our own lack. We cling to relationships, achievements, or possessions, hoping they’ll fill the gaps in our self-worth, only to find that no external thing can patch what’s missing inside. This isn’t love—it’s attachment. When we cultivate love within ourselves, we begin to see others—and the world—as they truly are: beautifully imperfect. And in that clarity, we can love without expectations or need.

This, to me, is the heart of detachment. It’s not about rejecting love or emotion; it’s about letting go of the need to grasp and control, the need to dictate outcomes, or the fear of things not turning out as we hoped. It’s about trusting that what is meant for us will stay, and what isn’t will leave. But regardless, you will still be here. And in that trust, there is peace.

So, when life’s waves come crashing, let them. Feel their power, but don’t let them carry you away. Trust yourself, forgive yourself, and love yourself enough to stand firm. When you do, you’ll find that the chaos of the world no longer feels like something to fight against, but something to observe, learn from, and ultimately, let go of.

Start small: forgive yourself for one mistake today. Remind yourself that you’re human and imperfect—and that’s enough. Each step toward compassion for yourself is a step toward freedom.