Letting go is not a rupture, but a soft exhale into peace, when holding on begins to cost too much.
There’s a mango tree just outside my window. Every year, like clockwork, it blooms with reckless generosity, flinging tiny white flowers into the air. But only a few will become fruit. The rest fall away silently, unnoticed, becoming part of the soil again.
I used to wonder why the tree would put in so much effort only to lose most of what it created. But then I realized—nature doesn’t mourn what must go. It simply lets go, to preserve what truly matters.
Letting go is often spoken of as an act of bravery, and sometimes as a spiritual choice. But I’ve found it’s mostly about honesty. A quiet reckoning with what no longer nourishes us. Whether it’s a friendship that feels more like a duty than joy, an ambition that no longer feels aligned, or a memory that keeps pulling us back like an anchor disguised as nostalgia—holding on always costs more than we admit.
I have clutched many things long past their season. Conversations I hoped would heal, people I tried to fix, dreams that had expired quietly while I kept them on life support. There’s a peculiar guilt in walking away from things that once defined you. But guilt, I’ve learned, is not always a moral compass—it can also be a residue of misplaced responsibility.
Letting go is not the same as giving up. It’s the decision to no longer bleed for something that won’t return to life. It’s acknowledging that closure is a myth sold to those who want symmetry. Life rarely offers perfect endings—only honest pauses.
Some people will not grow with you. Some events will not resolve. Some relationships will not explain themselves. And that’s okay.
The tree outside doesn’t seem sad about what it sheds. It grows, still. It prepares, still. It gives, still. Without fuss.
So here’s a thought: what if we allowed ourselves the same grace?
To let go, not out of bitterness, but out of reverence for our own evolution.
To let go, not with dramatic declarations, but with a deep exhale that says, “This no longer needs to stay.”
Some things are not meant to be carried. They are meant to pass through us, teaching us how to travel lighter, live deeper, and grow wiser.
In letting go, we do not become less—we become more aligned with who we truly are becoming.
Letters for the Inner Journey by Pushkar
