Letting Go of One More Thing

So many things to let go of as we get older.

For example, I used to pass by a particular Dunkin Donuts every day. 

Back when my son was young, after I dropped him off at day care, I stopped at that Dunkin’s to pick up a quick cup of coffee on my way to work downtown—as I headed in to a job that was bigger than I had any business doing. 

The DD is no longer—now it’s a Smoker’s Haven.

The Dunk’s was right down the street from Blake’s Creamery, where I went to breakfast with my mom and dad on Tuesdays because that was seniors’ day and they got 10% off. 

Now, not only are both my parents gone, but Blake’s is now gone, too, and it’s now the office of Meals on Wheels. 

Just one more block down from that, there is a bank on the corner where I once brought a bottle of coins to convert to dollars so I would have something to put into my empty bank account. 

The windows of that bank are now boarded up.

Is this what life is, letting go of all of these memories, these places that once had a prominent space in our geography?

I recently got rid of an old couch I had for $45. 

I loved that couch! It was tan suede, cushy, and inviting. It was the first furniture I bought on my own, after my 5-year-old and I left an unhealthy situation and moved out of our house. 

The couch was a symbol of a fresh start, a different kind of adulthood, and sat in a new apartment that was just ours.

But recently, I decided it was time to let the couch go. 

The couch was over 20 years old. It had been loved, sat on, cried on, and slept on, and it didn’t owe us anything any longer. It apparently was going to bring new life to a mother-in-law apartment somewhere.

But I’m so sentimental.

I struggled to let all of these things go.

And why does it feel like a small death when we finally release something we’ve been holding onto for decades?

The truth is, in these moments, we’re not just releasing objects or places. We are releasing versions of ourselves. 

I was letting go of that young mother rushing to work with coffee in hand. 

That daughter sharing Tuesday breakfasts with her aging parents. 

That practical woman making ends meet, counting coins, and building a life from scratch. 

These times aren’t just memories—they are witnesses to who we were, proof that we survived, that we mattered.

But as I let these things go, here’s one thing I have learned: Holding on means carrying the weight of every version of yourself you’ve ever been. 

And that can get heavy. 

What might it feel like to honor those earlier selves without being bound by them?

I like to think that letting things go can create space for something new. If we don’t let some things go, there is no room for the new to arrive.

Maybe this is the real question we need to ask ourselves: Not what are we losing, but what are we making room for? 

What do you want to be ready to receive? 

When that couch left my home, it created new opportunities—a chance for me to create a new writing space in our den. But letting it go also created some fresh emotional space—room to imagine, to welcome in whatever wants to come next. 

And isn’t that what transformation requires? 

Not just the courage to release, but faith that there’s something worth receiving on the other side of the emptiness?

Maya Angelou once said, “We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.” 

Perhaps letting go isn’t about loss at all. 

Perhaps it’s about the metamorphosis that's required for us to become who we are meant to be next.

So, today, I ask you: What are you still holding onto that no longer serves you? 

And what might be waiting for you? What is in escrow just waiting for some space for it to emerge?

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