The Art of Letting Go

Sometimes letting go doesn’t mean the end — but the beginning of a new path. Even so, an ending, especially an abrupt one, is rarely easy. Quite the opposite. Often we resist it, we cry, we rage, we deny or ignore it simply because we don’t want to feel the pain. We postpone our grief for later.

I’ve let go many times in my life — of apartments, men, places, jobs, friendships. Some of these farewells were planned, others crept in quietly, and still others tore me away from familiar ground like a sudden storm. And although I’ve long known that change is inevitable, letting go has never been easy for me.

Letting go is one of the most essential yet most difficult human experiences — because it confronts us with impermanence, uncertainty, and ultimately, with ourselves.

Impermanence as the Law of Life

In Buddhism, impermanence — Anicca — is one of the three marks of existence. Everything that arises will pass away. No moment, no feeling, no thought remains as it was. Even stones weather, even stars burn out. And yet, we cling — to people, memories, possessions — as if they could protect us from life’s transience.

Letting go has never come easily to me — whether it’s people, places, ideas, or dreams. Though I’ve moved countless times, changed homes, traveled endlessly, and even brought some of my ideas to life, I’ve had to learn over and over again how to release.

This truth became especially clear to me in Dharamsala, during a meditation course. In Buddhism, one of the core teachings is that everything is impermanent — and that attachment leads to suffering. Because, as we all know: nothing in life is constant; everything changes. Nature changes. We change. Even seemingly solid things — like the table before us — decay with time. Yet we keep trying to hold on: to people, to things, to ideas that promise us safety.

How we can truly learn to let go — and integrate impermanence into our lives — is what I explore in this reflection.

The Subtle Sadness of Beauty

In the past, I found it hard to live fully in the moment. I’d watch a sunset and think, if only I could hold on to this. Instead of simply experiencing it, I already felt sadness that it would soon be over. The same happened during travels or special days — a perfect beach day, an unforgettable moment. I savored every second, yet melancholy crept in, knowing it wouldn’t last. Even happiness carried a shadow for me — the fear that it might fade.

Today, I see it differently. I’ve learned that everything moves in cycles — the good times and the bad. When a few days don’t go well, I know they too will pass. Everything in life passes — the beautiful and the difficult moments alike.

That thought is both comforting and painful. Comforting, because even suffering ends. Painful, because so does joy.

The Ache of Departure

I’ve felt this impermanence most deeply in my travels. I was often in one place only briefly — and yet it was always hard to move on. Each departure felt like heartbreak, as though I wasn’t just leaving a place but also the experiences and the people I’d met there. Arriving somewhere new, I’d already feel the pull of the next goodbye — as if I could never truly arrive anywhere. But when I stayed, I almost always discovered that I could come to love that place too.

Friends laughed about my restlessness, but eventually I understood: it wasn’t about the place — it was about letting go.

Letting Go as an Existential Experience

Letting go means losing control — or rather, realizing we never had it. Our modern world teaches us that stability and possession are signs of security, something to strive for. Yet life cannot be owned. Everything we try to hold on to — relationships, success, health, happiness, identity — stays with us only for a while.

During that meditation course in Dharamsala, the teacher said:

“The tighter you hold on, the more you’ll suffer when you have to let go.”

That was the moment I understood: suffering doesn’t come from impermanence itself, but from our resistance to it. We don’t suffer because things end — we suffer because we want them to stay.

The Psychology of Holding On

Why is letting go so hard for us humans? Psychologically, it’s not just emotion — it’s biology.

Our brain’s reward system — fueled by dopamine — links certain people, places, or experiences with pleasure. Even when those things no longer bring us joy, the memories still light up the same neural pathways. Letting go, then, feels like withdrawal.

We’re also naturally loss-averse: studies show that the pain of loss is stronger than the joy of an equal gain. Our brain clings to avoid pain — yet paradoxically, that very clinging creates new suffering.

And on an emotional level, we fear the unknown.

We believe we’re incomplete without the past.

We hope things might still change.

Letting go, therefore, isn’t a rational act — it’s an emotional process.

A Personal Farewell

When I quit my secure job in HR to become self-employed and follow a new lifestyle, I thought this step would set me free. Finally, I was following my heart’s path. But the reality was more complex.

In leaving my job, I wasn’t just giving up a position — I was letting go of an identity: the woman who had risen from a working-class background to live her teenage dream in Munich.

It took me months to realize that letting go doesn’t only mean liberation — it also means mourning. I had to grieve the old before I could embrace the new. That realization changed how I see transformation: letting go isn’t a clean break, but a transition — an inner shift that takes time.

Between Holding On and Trust

In the Western world, holding on is often seen as a virtue: loyalty, perseverance, stability. Letting go, by contrast, sounds like giving up.

Spiritually, the opposite is true. To let go is not to surrender to fate — it’s to trust life.

Letting go means creating space — for the new, for lightness, for what wants to come next.

If we never release the old branch, we cannot grasp the new one.

As the writer Anaïs Nin said:

“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.”

Letting go is exactly that: an act of courage. We don’t know what comes next, but we move forward anyway — trusting that it will be good.

Letting Go as Inner Decluttering

Sometimes letting go is like a spring cleaning for the soul. Marie Kondo’s principle — Does it spark joy? — became a global movement. But what she describes outwardly also applies inwardly: we can learn to tidy up our inner world.

After each journey, after each life chapter, I take time to reflect:

What have I learned?

What do I wish to keep — and what can I release?

Which memories nourish me, and which keep me tied to the past?

I often write these reflections down. Writing helps — and science agrees: it allows emotions to be processed and released.

The Many Faces of Attachment

Letting go doesn’t always mean saying goodbye to people. Sometimes we must release ideas, expectations, or self-images.

We cling to old versions of ourselves — to roles, stories, and ideas of who we “should” be. Yet with every change, life invites us to redefine ourselves.

Even perfectionism can be a form of holding on — the need to control everything to avoid mistakes. But life resists control. It wants to flow — and asks us to flow with it.

In truth, letting go isn’t loss. It’s renewal. We are allowed to rewrite our story — again and again.

The Paradox of Letting Go

Interestingly, letting go often happens only when we stop forcing it. The more we try to “finally let go,” the tighter we grip. Only when we accept that we’re not ready does space arise — and in that space, letting go unfolds naturally.

Letting go is a process of maturity.

You can’t rush it — only accompany it.

From Letting Go to Trust

Every act of letting go ultimately leads to deeper trust — in ourselves, in life, in the power of change.

Each time I release something, space opens up — and that space is always filled again, often in unexpected ways.

Life has its own choreography.

We don’t need to understand it — only learn to dance with it.

Letting go doesn’t mean giving up. It means accepting that life continues. It’s hard, but it’s necessary — to make room for what’s to come.

Practical Ways to Let Go

• Accept that change is normal. And remember: both change and the act of letting go take time. The mind may understand long before the heart does.

• Allow emotions instead of suppressing them. Give yourself time to feel.

• Create rituals of farewell. Write a letter, burn a note, or symbolically release something.

• Focus on the future. Ask: What do I want to take with me — and what can I leave behind?

• Ask yourself: “What do I gain by letting go?”

• Visualize your life without that burden. How does it feel? What becomes possible?

• Practice gratitude for what was.

• Release control and trust life’s flow — new opportunities always emerge.

• Declutter physically — outer order supports inner clarity.

• Seek support if needed.

• Use affirmations as reminders:

  • “I allow myself to let go.”

  • “I release what no longer belongs to me.”

  • “I open myself to the new.”

Letting go is not a single act, but an ongoing practice — a conscious step toward making space for what’s next. It’s okay if it takes time, if sadness lingers, or if uncertainty arises.

Final Thought

Perhaps letting go is the highest form of love — because it grants freedom where possession would begin.

And perhaps it’s also the deepest form of trust — because it allows life to unfold without forcing it.

Letting go doesn’t mean losing.

It means creating space — for what wants to be.

Maybe the question is: What am I still holding on to? What could I release to make room for something new?

Because, as my mother always said:

“When you think there’s no way, a little light will find you.”

And perhaps that’s the true magic of letting go —it makes space for the light.